The opening days of fall find goldenrod all over our world..in gardens, along highways and in every field. Here's Mary Oliver's reflection on a herald-of-autumn "weed."
This morning the goldenrod are all wearing
their golden shirts
fresh from heaven's soft wash in the
So it must be a celebration.
And here comes the wind, so many swinging wings!
Has he been invited, or is he the intruder?
Invited, whisper the golden pebbles of the weeds,
as they begin to fall over the ground.
Well, you would think the little murmurs
of the broken blossoms would have said otherwise,
but no. So I sit down among them to think
about it while all around me the crumbling goes on.
The weeds let down their seedy faces cheerfully,
which is the part I like best, and certainly
it is as good as a book for learning from.
You would think they were just going for a
small sleep. You would think they couldn't wait,
it was going to be that snug and even, as all their
lives were, full of excitation.
You would think it was a voyage just beginning,
and no darkness anywhere, but tinged with all
necessary instruction, and light,
and all were shriven, as all the round world is,
and so it wasn't anything but easy to fall,
to whisper Good Night.