when the eternal nuclear winter comes, and your lands are left barren, society crumbled, will your gold save you? will your gold feed you? will prevent that bitter cold from north from laying you early in your inevitable grave? in those final moments, would you stand by your decision? or would you think back to those autumn leaves. how they could have warmed you with the tender heat of fire, or fed the soil of your gardens? but either way, it would be too late, and perhaps we will never know the answer.