Such Finess as October Airs

You’d think we’d be used to the transformations by now. They are on the calendar. They are in our memories. Early frost. Early spring. Late bloomers. These are misnomers, for nothing is early or late except by our reckoning, and nature keeps its own time.

The peak season for color, which for those of you not from New England is considered part of the tourism industry, moves like a shaft of sunlight across the region. Bring in the last of the tomatoes. Reduce the garden to stubble as the trees show off new wardrobes. All in good time.


On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed
By Henry David Thoreau

On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.


Note: The above photos are from the Berkshires in Western Mass., the Hancock Shaker Village in Hancock, Mass., and Sturbridge Village in Sturbridge, Mass. Henry David Thoreau, he’s a Concord boy.