“So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”
Robert Frost was right—nothing gold can stay. Perhaps that’s a good thing. I’m not sure if we Mainers could take more than thirty-one days of October’s golden beauty. It would be too much dazzle and burst for us, and like overstimulated children, we would wear ourselves to a frazzle. With that in mind, November’s austerity—its russets and browns—has a soothing quality and a quiet beauty of its own.
Still, I wouldn’t want to be without glorious October. And as Gladys Taber observed, “When the blizzards come, I shall not only get what I can out of being snug and toasty by the fire…but I shall tell myself, as always, that without our special climate, no October.”
Taber was writing about Connecticut, but the same applies to Maine and its “special climate.”