As the days get shorter, trees prepare to rest for the winter. The green chlorophyll in the leaves breaks down and is reabsorbed into the tree to be reused in spring. For a few glorious weeks in the fall, the oranges and yellows (and browns) that have been there all along, hidden by the green, let themselves be seen. The reds and purples, though, are newly created in fall, possibly to protect the tree from sunburn or pests.
by Louise Glück
Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
sleep in their blue yoke,
the fields having been
picked clean, the sheaves
bound evenly and piled at the roadside
among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:
This is the barrenness
of harvest or pestilence.
And the wife leaning out the window
with her hand extended, as in payment,
and the seeds
distinct, gold, calling
Come here, little one
And the soul creeps out of the tree.
From Louise Glück’s Poems 1962-2012