By Fools Like Me

 

Algonquin, October 2004

I thought I had run out of metaphors. Then I remembered this picture. I learned something about fall leaf colours just this year. The green of summer fades as trees resorb chlorophyll from the leaves and convert it to nutrients that are stored over winter to use for new growth in the spring. The golds are xanthophylls which are not resorbed as quickly as chlorophyll. The reds are anthocyanins which appear in autumn perhaps to repel insects, protect from light damage, or improve competition with other vegetation. The result is an impressive display of brilliant colour just before leaves fall.

I am reminded of a song Mum used to sing with words from the poem 'Trees' by Joyce Kilmer. The current generation has not heard it, and I expect if they did, they would cut it short with much eye rolling and quickly move on to Adele singing 'Easy on Me' in the wake of divorce. Kilmer's poem is just too sweet for the modern palate, like chugging a whole bottle of maple syrup, not enough tangy angst to appeal to youth who are hungry for a bit of drama in an otherwise uneventful stream of well-managed risk. I'm not suggesting Mum was right and her great-grandkids are wrong. They are simply different. She lived through the great depression and a world war. To brighten things up, she wore lipstick. Now in a culture of plenty and peace, they do piercings and tattoos. Nothing alive remains unchanged from decade to decade, and the spirit of the age pushes on with novelty as its engine looking for excitement when things are dull and reassurance when things are challenging.

I got side-tracked. I forgot about autumn colour as a metaphor. Here it is. The anticipation of winter initiates the exceptional beauty of autumn. It is enough. Forget piercing your tongue to alleviate boredom. Don't use lipstick to distract from the chronic threat of doom. Just look about. The world is enough. Autumn is a promise of what we might experience as we begin a season of austerity to mitigate climate change. Notice what has worn threadbare because of our excess and appreciate what will endure a time of restraint to bud anew. Sweet beauty is enough.