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Will you just look at those trees?
Excuse me — how ridiculously beautiful are they?
Flaming marigold, wine dark burgundy, golden Aztec yellows and reds all on a cloth of Greek island blue. With this rich palette, death has never looked more beautiful.
Here on my verandah this Sunday morning after Anzac Day, even the birds are quiet, struck dumb by the final mad, orchestral burst of autumn from our ornamental grapevine.
Of course, none of this is natural.
Apart from the Nothofagus gunnii found in the highlands of Tasmania, Australian native trees are not deciduous.
And even the Tasmanian fagus is more of a shrub than a tree.
All these glorious autumnal paintings on our streets and in our gardens are imported.
According to nerdy environmentalists, they’re a perfect case of “geographically misplaced seasonal imaginings” — or GMSI for short.
Like snow at Christmas.
Our elms and maples are, just like these recent days of balmy summer temperatures, beautiful and troubling in equal measure.
Instead of collecting firewood and lighting lounge room fires, we are still picking tomatoes from our garden vines.
I’m catching hot morning early December sun on my neck and slapping mozzies off my arm in the late afternoon.
I don’t want to be a doomsayer, but things are weird.
Is this climate change? There will be plenty of people who will say they’ve seen it all before.
There’s nothing to worry about, just enjoy it for what it is — a lovely Indian summer.
Then there are others who are deeply concerned at our changing climate and are nervously looking for the first signs.
Still others say if it is climate change, there is nothing we can do about it, so let’s just get on with life.
I can see their point too.
So in the end, I’m left in a cloudy pool of uncertainty.
I spend a lot of time swimming in this murky pool.
Should I buy an electric car now, or wait until the charging facilities are better?
Should I use up my valuable rainwater today and give the garden a drink even though the forecast says it might rain tomorrow?
Am I really limiting my life by keeping a garden-digging, cable chewing, people jumping Jack Russell terrier?
Is the world really going to hell in a handbasket of AI slop?
And anyway, what came before the Big Bang? Was it really God?
I don’t have answers to any of these things.
So I sit with uncertainty.
But I’m not alone, because after all, we do live in uncertain times.
Even that bastion of stability and unwavering tradition King Charles said this week we live in uncertain times.
So uncertainty is not a popular thing.
Markets don’t like it, and neither do fanatics.
But maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
Uncertainty means not accepting that what you see is all there is.
It means keep asking questions, keep the door open to new possibilities.
Two hundred years ago, the poet John Keats came up with the concept of “negative capability”, which means living with doubt and suspending your judgment on something so you can learn more about it.
Today, our social media algorithms push us towards false certainties which then shove people into opposing camps — left vs right, religion vs science, black vs white, dogs vs cats.
But people and animals and situations are always more complicated.
The only thing I am absolutely certain of is that these days at the end of April are too glorious to be enjoyed through windows.
Get out and see for yourself.
John Lewis is a former journalist at The News.