The buses full of tourists jammed the lot.
They’d come to see the trees and be beguiled.
A woman pulled her window down and smiled,
A balding man leaned out and took a shot.
They cheered the flaming yellow and the red.
Great flares of orange drew their soft applause.
Thus humankind has done without a pause,
This honoring of dying and the dead.
But no one greets the browning when it comes,
When sunless days’ decay feeds nascent growth.
Perhaps the colder weather chills and numbs;
Perhaps they miss fall’s silent, sacred oath.
Praise color if you like, the bright fall sun.
In dark and out of sight the work gets done.
