Last week I stepped outside to see the morning sun rising over the mountains and shining on this yellow tree across the street. The sun on those yellow leaves made the tree shimmer like something out of a fairy tale. A tree of gold.
What a difference a week makes. Today, the smoke is so thick from the forest fires in the canyon that a haze covers everything.I can barely see, barely breathe. Nothing is golden today. Trees like this one are fueling the smoke that keeps us from finding the gold.
Instead, we all smell like we've been around the campfire too long. My hair grabs the smoky smell and won't let it go. My clothes smell like I sat on the windy side of the evening fire. Even food tastes of smoke. My throat has the tickle that comes before a coughing spell.
I am reminded, again, that life's moments--like a gold tree--are fleeting. We need to make mental images if we can't capture the memories with our devices. Frost was right: nothing gold can stay.
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