The speaker walks a dog while watching the year run down, and the movement around them proves a point: nothing can stand still. If anything were perfectly motionless, it would disappear from notice. Autumn offers falling apples, bright rose hips, turning leaves, and small animals risking everything for seeds. At the river, a trout rises, an osprey plunges, and the two meet. The final thought is wry and tender—perhaps the osprey turns the trout head first in flight not just for aerodynamics but out of kindness, to show it what is coming. The mood is calm, attentive, and quietly elegiac. Change feels inevitable, even a little sad, but the speaker meets it with curiosity and gentleness, finding care inside a predatory instant.
Nothing Can Stand Still — Summary
Nothing can stand still. If it were to do so absolutely, I could not see it; if I were to cease scanning, I could not then see; therefore change is all. These were my thoughts as I walked a dog, watching my year run down.
Apples were falling; I chose one to eat. Hips blushed fiercely; I stuffed my pockets full. Ash and maple and willow turned and turned. Restless mice and voles risked their all for seeds. We reached the river; a trout rose, an osprey plunged; they met and flew as one.
An osprey will turn a trout head first in flight, you know -- for improved aerodynamics. I disbelieve it; surely the bird is kind. It turns the trout to show it what's to come.