Each day I love to take a walk in my own back yard and contemplate what it means to be alive. Today I found our pitch fork standing alone in a garden that is now harvested and gone and a previously green tree suddenly filled with gold. I was reminded how quickly the seasons change - how brief each day, each life . . . and in my mind came the words of Robert Frost . . .
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.
