Bittersweet

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

From Endymion, by John Keats

Fall’s display has turned to shades of brown. The once bright leaves crackle underfoot and blow in the wind. But two delights linger on: bittersweet and winterberries. Their brilliant reds and oranges quickly draw the eye, and they have been a source of pleasure for me every year. But this has now become a “bittersweet” experience. I never knew until now that there are two varieties of bittersweet. The indigenous American variety only has berries at the tips of the vines. An invasive and far more common variety, native to eastern Asia, was introduced in the 1860s. On the invasive variety, the berries grow along the length of the vines, and the vines have a tendency to engulf and slowly kill surrounding vegetation. It’s sad to discover that such a beautiful vine is engaged in a silent war with our native flora. Purple loosestrife and teasel are two other such plants that come to mind. I think that nature has always been a force of change and evolution. Nothing is stagnant, nothing is forever, and the transport of invasive species by mankind only accelerates an eternal process already carried out by birds, animals and the elements. But however you rationalize or try to justify such a process, the visual experience is forever changed. Keats’ observation must be followed by Prospero’s rejoinder, “Tis new to thee”. By Tom