A few years ago, I flew a couple thousand miles and drove some more to see New England’s fall foliage. Today, within walking distance, I marvel at the colours of autumn right in my neck of the woods.
We don’t have maples trees here. Our fall colours are mainly yellow and rusty orange.
Birds have mostly flown south, what’s left is a scenery of silent gold… until I come to this aspen grove. No, they’re not silent at all, as I see how these trees put on a show of vibrancy.
Kawabata entitled one of his books The Sound of the Mountain. Here, I can hear the sound of flaming aspens, full of vitality and life.
Surely, Robert Frost had wisely noted that nothing gold can stay, and yet, I find these simple lines speak louder, as if in reply:
The leaves do not mind at all
That they must fall. *
If only for a short, ephemeral moment, they fulfill their purpose and shout out the sound of life.
*From the poem ‘The Leaves Do Not Mind At All” by Annette Wynne
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