Our maple trees have lost a lot of golden yellow leaves in the past week-but the skies have been a striking shade of stone-washed denim blue and the sun was shining...
I found this poem by Carl Sandburg called "Autumn Movement."
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The Northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the Northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.
