The turning leaves in Paris portend imminent change, more than just a change of seasons.
I have been paralyzed by indecision.
Should I do this? Should I do that? Is this? Can I? What will happen? Is this right? Will she? Who will? When? Now? Later? Ever? and the dreaded What if?
But then, one day, the green leaves had begun their annual transmutation into gold. “Nothing gold can stay.” That’s what Robert Frost said. And Johnny Cade.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So Dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
They were right. Change is inevitable. The golden leaves reassure me. No indecision. No hesitation. No doubt.
It’s time to go home.