Golden Days

"I think that I shall never see...A poem as lovely as a tree," I recited to my husband as we walked in Cann Garden today. The trees were dancing today in their finest garb as the wind twirled them, sending down a shower of golden leaves like so many fluttering hankies of a fading beauty taking her last bow in a stage performance.

"Let's walk in the leaves!" I urged my husband, tugging him toward the growing crest beside the walkway. Crunch, crunch!  This was exhilarating!  We couldn't help laughing as the wind blew us along, me with the hood of my jacket pulled up and Howard holding onto his cap. We felt like school children making our way through the multicolored carpet that spread under most of the trees and spilled out onto our path.

Finishing our walk, we saw that a group of people were having lunch at the gazebo.  When boys and girls started to spill out, we realized it was a school group.   As we got in the car we could see them frolicking in the leaves as the adults gathered jackets and lunch supplies.  Leaves were flying, and some of the kids were rolling in them.  "Let's make a leaf pile!" one cried. Scooping with their hands and scraping with feet, the kids soon had the beginnings of a pile.  Pulling out the drive, we could see a child emerge from under the leaf pile and another dive into it.

Joyce Kilmer's poem, Trees, goes on:

"A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
 Against the earth's sweet flowing breast

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray.

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair.

Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree."

"Look!" I called to my husband, "that squirrel has two nuts in its mouth!"  I at first couldn't make out what looked like a leaf sticking out from each side of the squirrel's mouth, but then I realized it was two pecans still in their green hulls.  The squirrel gripped the twig that joined them together as he scampered to a hiding place.

It's true!  Only God can make a tree--a place where children play, birds and animals are sustained, and writers find inspiration. In Isaiah 55:12, the prophet writes these encouraging words, "For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."  My sentiments exactly!