As summer ends I watch the exchange of green to gold and orange and red with mixed feeling. Autumn is probably my favourite season, partly because of the bitter-sweetness of it. I feel a need to grab every moment and soak in the colour craziness before the monotone of winter descends
Old age can be a time of bitter-sweet beauty as well. I’ve watched some elderly people fade into bitter grey resentment and I’ve watched some press on in colourful joyful hope. It’s a choice often made in the spring.
It is you, not I, who have been carried from before you were born.
Indeed, when you were still in the womb, I was taking care of you.
And when you are old, I will still be there, carrying you.
When your limbs grow tired, your eyes are weak,
And your hair a silvery gray, I will carry you as I always have.
I will carry you and save you.