I hope to visit Vermont one of these years to witness the changing of the leaves and revel in the kaleidoscope of red and golden hues as autumn overtakes summer. But it requires deft planning: The window of opportunity opens without fanfare, and the fiery foliage doesn't last long.

I'd also like to visit Japan in the spring, when the entire population holds its collective breath as the Sakura Forecast tracks the appearance of cherry blossoms rippling up the islands from south to north. All across the country, people joyfully observe the traditional Hanami flower viewing, celebrating with picnics, festivals and displays of paper lanterns.

It was Emerson who observed that, "If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown!"

Indeed, few of us pause to marvel at the rising sun or the falling snow. We note the beauty of our world almost in passing, secure in the knowledge that what we miss today will be waiting for us tomorrow, or the day after that.

It's simple human nature. But it's also a shame. To appreciate the blessings of our world, it seems that we need them to be this week's entry into the Ethical Lexicon:

Ephemeral (e*phem*er*al / ih-FEM-er-uhl) adjective

Lasting a very short time; transitory or fleeting.

Of late, headlines carry dire warnings about the spread, cost and environmental impact of digital data centers. According to projections, by 2030 these centers will occupy more land space than Manhattan; by 2035, they will consume 20% of electricity in the United States. And although they provide massive government revenue from taxes, they also place a constantly growing strain on water, land and housing markets.

Much of this is driven by increasingly sophisticated computing programs and the popularization of AI. But part of it derives from a new cultural norm that demands we document and store every detail of our individual and collective experience.

Back in the distant past, when cameras used film, professional photographers needed to gauge their shots with discernment. Now, they click away indiscriminately, taking pictures by the thousands and uploading them all to the cloud.

The amateurs may be worse. Can any of us offer a coherent explanation why we need to photograph every breakfast, lunch and cup of coffee, then save these images to be preserved for all eternity as we almost instantaneously forget them?

Where does the intense visceral reaction evoked by cherry blossoms and autumnal foliage come from? Is it not our awareness that their beauty is ephemeral and will vanish all too soon? That which we won't have tomorrow, we cherish deeply today.

But there's more at play than mere appreciation. Impermanence places upon us greater responsibility — to preserve memories, to cultivate mature thinking and to acquire a coherent worldview. Consider the British constitution, which is uncodified and unwritten. It is an organic, oral matrix constructed from principles and precedents, prerogatives and long-standing customs. You can't simply look it up. You need to know it.

This design predates the British by more than two thousand years. Traditional Judaism rests on an oral tradition received at Sinai together with the Written Law. The doctrine of scripture enshrines the fundamental values, rituals and statutes that circumscribe Jewish life; the Oral Law allows the flexibility to adapt to changing times so that the essence of traditional practice never becomes outdated or obsolete.

An oral tradition instills in us a profound sense of responsibility. If we don't remember and preserve our cultural values, if we don't keep alive our practices and our traditions, we will not only lose them but will lose ourselves with them.

Paradoxically, documenting the past increases the likelihood that it will fade from consciousness. That's why the ephemeral nature of memory is a gift; it enables us to hold onto the past by compelling us to live in the present.

You needn't save every single memory, any more than you need to notice every single leaf or flower. By allowing life's most precious moments to wash over you, to penetrate your heart and electrify your mind, you will never truly lose them.

See more by Yonason Goldson and features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists; visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Annie Nyle at Unsplash