"The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down."
Last
week, driving through the countryside, I noticed the goldenrod showing yellow
heads and this poem began to echo in my head. September is here.. And with it
school starts again for both teachers and kids. Every year in early September
these words would be written on the chalkboard of my primary classroom and for
me they are still an integral part of this time of year.
This
year as they repeated themselves in my mind, they began to take on a different
meaning from before. I have now surpassed the three score and ten years
mentioned in Psalm 90: 10 “The days of
our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty, if we are strong; even then
their span is only trial and trouble; they are gone and we fly away” [NRSV]
and
so I am comfortably ensconced in the autumn of my years.
Some friends, my age
and younger have been diagnosed with life threatening illnesses, while some of
the rest of us have begun to mature into what we are meant to be. Still others of us find that what we have experienced
over those years has given us wisdom that we can share with others. The years
remaining to us, however long or short they will be, are our final chance to
leave a harvest for those who follow.
What
will your harvest be from the autumn of your life?
Here
is the complete poem “September” by Helen
Hunt Jackson [1830-1885]
September
The goldenrod is yellow
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curing in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges haunt their harvest,
In every meadow’s nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all those lovely tokens
September days are here;
With summer’s best of weather
And autumn’s best of cheer.
Helen
Hunt Jackson [1830-1885]
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