NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY
Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963
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.
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.
This poem has been on my mind all week as I have driven around Waynesville, which is finally experiencing the peak of fall colors. Although the hues are somewhat muted this year, the oranges and golds and magentas are stunning, and the hillsides blaze in the sun. This is my favorite time of the year, and I revel in the beauty of my surroundings. We frequently rejoice with a "We LIVE HERE!!" expression of amazement, but never more so than when Autumn is hitting her stride.
Yet alongside the trees that are still at the peak of their perfection stand other trees which have already lost their leaves. This stark contrast is a reminder of what is soon to come, when we will have moved on to another lovely time up here in the Blue Ridge. This cusp of seasons brings a hint of melancholy--a realization that "nothing gold can stay."
This realization has been intruding into my consciousness a bit more than usual lately. Perhaps it's because I recently turned 67. When I go to the doctor for my annual checkup now, Medicare "wellness" reports butt into my life by asking questions about how often I fall, or if I need help with medications, or if I'm unusually depressed. (Carol and I laugh about how we dread the "test" when we're asked to draw a clock indicating a specific time and we are nervous until we get it right! Those of you digital kids out there--you sometimes have to think about how 2:17 looks on a clock face!) I'm relatively healthy for my age and I never shy away from telling anyone how old I am, but the looming threat of diabetes, the old age blemishes, and the facial features that are losing their fight against gravity are a daily reminder that I am really not the 35 that my inner Donna tells me I am.
The inevitability of change is nothing new to any of us, of course. Matriarchs (or patriarchs) who have held a family together pass away. Siblings grow apart, regardless of the bond of love. Children grow up and embark on lives of their own, somehow unwittingly diminishing ours. Estrangements arise in families, creating breaches never even imagined in years past. Relationships alter, bringing wisps of sadness. Spouses die--an unfathomable seismic shift forcing unwanted changes in routines and customs. But babies are born, new friendships are made and new opportunities created, and sometimes even dear old friends move to town.
I'll close this now before I resort to a cheesy rendition of "The Circle of Life" (even though it may be appropriate). Or maybe a better ending would be:
"Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on bra
La-la how the life goes on"!!
It does indeed. And I'm grateful for every day of it.
