I always start thinking about the paradoxes of autumn — the beauty, the foreshadowing, the pause before bad weather, the vain attempt to keep and hold and show it off — when the first leaves turn. And it is an arboricultural certainty in our part of the world that the first tree to have the great big sigh from green to yellow or red is a maple.
So it is nice to see one stubborn maple out there hanging on this late in the game:
But the tree knows, the trees have been singing about it to us for sometime. That last branch is about to pick up the tune as well. It is only a matter of time.
The last one of these tomorrow, he said. “Thank goodness,” came the reply.
