Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Did anyone else, in high school in the 1980s, read S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders, memorize Robert Frost’s poem, “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” watch the movie that shared the book’s title—chin quivering during the scene where Ponyboy recited the poem to Johnny—and try to stifle sobs in front of friends when Johnny, while dying, said, “Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold”?
I thought so.
*****
My mom, in her weekly newsletter to the family, shared a meteorologist's explanation of how leaves change color. Chlorophyll molecules use the red end of the visible light spectrum to power reactions inside each cell, while the unused green light is reflected from the leaf, and we see that light. When the process stops in the fall, triggered by cooler weather and shorter days, we can see a leaf’s true colors.
I think of that bit of science while a meme flies around social media. There’s a picture of vibrant but fallen leaves, and it says, “Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go.”
All this information works on me, and I feel the intended pang plucking at my chest.
I also think about the raking.
*****
I gaze at our next-door neighbors’ front yard tree, and the sight sucks breath from my lungs. I text to tell them how gorgeous I think it is. The woman texts back saying they love it too. Most often it only turns yellow, she says, because the leaves aren’t on long enough for it to turn red like this year. The truth is, its beauty pains me, but I don’t say as much. Instead, I stare at it from our kitchen window, my heart twisting and my vision blurring.
And I’m thankful for the gift.
Our neighbors’ tree
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.