As I wander through Milton’s woods, surrounded by autumn’s kaleidoscope of colours, my heart swells with melancholy and nostalgia. The vibrant hues of gold, crimson, and amber remind me of life’s unpredictability and the flow of time. Like the trees, I have experienced life’s full spectrum — laughter, tears, triumphs, and retreats.
Each year, my wife and I escape Karachi’s sweltering heat to join our son and his family in Milton, Canada. Our nine-year-old grandson is our joy, filling our lives with boundless love and purpose. As we share in the beauty of autumn, I’m reminded that every moment is a gift.
Shelley’s poignant words echo in my mind: “O Wind, if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” Yet, I know that for me, autumn’s arrival signals an irreversible journey. There will be no spring awakening, no revival. The thought whispers urgency in my heart, to cherish every moment.
Robert Frost’s iconic poem, ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’, reverberates deeply. The gentle snowfall, the woods’ silence, and the horse’s gentle bells create a serene atmosphere. Frost’s concluding lines become my mantra: “I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep.”
Milton’s autumnal landscape is a masterpiece, a reminder of life’s fleeting beauty. Nature’s canvas stretches before me, vibrant colours, delicate petals, and the soft rustle of leaves. Winter’s impending arrival will transform this tapestry, cloaking the woods in snow’s quiet majesty.
As snowflakes begin to fall, gently shrouding the woods, I know it’s time to bid farewell to Milton’s autumn. Though my heart is heavy with the thought of leaving, I carry the memories of this fleeting season — the vibrant hues, the crisp air, and the love shared with family.
In the stillness of the snowy woods, I whisper Frost’s words to myself: “I have miles to go before I sleep.” The autumn of my life may be knocking at my door, but with every breath, I shall cherish the beauty surrounding me — the love, the laughter, and the promise of memories yet to be etched in the collage of my heart.
Let me admit that an Urdu qitah, probably by Jigar Muradabadi, flashed in my mind when I was writing this piece. It is worth repeating for the poetry lovers as my title is borrowed from there.
Meri simt sai usay ai saba,
Ye payame akhrai shab suna,
Tujhe dekhna ho toh dekh ja,
Keh khizan hai apni bahar per.
HAROON RASHID SIDDIQI
MILTON, CANADA
