As I did the last post and was thinking of this Autumn/Fall season, I remembered a beautiful poem my Dad wrote called “Autumn Leaves.” He was reflecting on when it is that the leaves are really showing their true colours and whether each change is not really part of the whole process in Nature. My Dad did most of his writing in the Winter of his life. When he was alive, I didn’t appreciate his writing as I do now. I will share this beautiful poem with you.
The garden images in this collage are all from my own garden. My Dad loved the garden so it’s fitting that these be used for his poem. The images with the flowers and cabbages were taken in Bloor West Village outside a flower shop that he liked. Hope you enjoy both the collage and the poem!
AUTUMN LEAVES
When do they their true colors show?
When March winds bring
The first fresh smell of spring?
When branches bared,
Which looked like dead
Begin to sprout and stoop
beneath the weight
Of thick green leaves?
Or in the Fall,
When motley colours seem to vie
For pride of place and honour high
And the competing hues outspread
Their brown, their yellow
and flamboyant red?
Is not each day, each form,
Each change its own true self,
A rite of passage
In this mysterious scheme of things?
Which then are their true colours?