Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I took this photo a couple weeks ago as summer waned and autumn arrived. The geraniums still bloomed but with less zest than in the heat of the high season. The leaves on the trees were losing their ability to product chlorophyll, which keeps them green in summer. Once the chlorophyll is depleted the trees turn their brilliant colors. Scientists have determined what trees turn what colors, and I suppose it a valuable thing to know. I only know the cornucopia of color that brightens my back yard every fall is a wonderful sight.

This photo represents a certain point in time. Now, the geranium plant is gone, having succumbed in last week’s frost and fallen from its perch on the deck bench in recent severe winds. But the trees on the far bank have become brilliant red. Overhead we have moved to the grey time of year, but when the sun shines in late afternoon this scene moves me.

I think of the English poet John Keats who said, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever; its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.” Having a photo of something you deem beautiful helps keep it alive. So today I share this photo of my back yard and, at the same time, revisit a poet who died almost two hundred years ago.