One of my favorite poems is by Robert Frost, and I guess this time of year triggers the melancholy associations of Fall and the turning of the leaves as the winds begin their descent from the north to bring thoughts of the inevitable Autumn of our lives, and the Winter to follow, which sooner or later will be something most of us experience, and for which all of us will be taken unaware.
I've always seen myself as young in my mind, never old, a situation that was always normal to me. Until I read my late Grandma's journal. Grandma, to me at least, had always been old and so I grew up assuming that she saw herself as she was to me.
Then, as I read the words she put to paper as she approached her 70th year (and I approached my 21st), I learned that she saw herself exactly like I saw myself then and still see myself today, fleet of foot, long of breath, nimble and strong, because, like her, that is what I used to be.
Nothing Gold Can Stay.
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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.
By Robert Frost
1874 - 1963
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