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."
Robert Frost (1923)
That last line has been running through my head as I watch the chrome-yellow poplar leaves whirl through the air and see the mountainsides losing their brilliance. A few autumn cyclamen are blooming and oyster mushrooms are swelling into plump succulence but fall's full glory is past and there's a tinge of sadness in the scene.
Even so, here at autumn's end, the golden poplars blaze like torches against the gray background of leafless trees, burning all the brighter with the fading of the light.
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