If I were a painter of nature and outdoor scenes, I would become thoroughly depressed come fall. For then, above all other times and seasons, I'd be faced with my total inability to render autumn's breathtaking light and colors into a credible likeness by merely daubing pigments on canvas.
Nature makes a mockery of the greatest artists, the most God-given talents. No painter who ever lived—or ever shall live—comes close to getting it right. No photographer, either, for that matter.
Yesterday, after we'd finished hauling and stacking firewood, and were gimping our way around the cottage to the deck and rocking chairs where we intended to sit a spell, watch the river, moan and groan from our new aches and pains, and contemplate whether we'd be able to clean and dress ourselves and drag our sorry carcasses out to dinner…I looked up the little hill and was stopped in my tracks by the sight of a little walnut tree by the road.
The walnut's leaves were a gleaming golden-yellow. The sky a rich azure blue. Two colors; two elements. Magical light. A scene that was simplicity itself, and one which had me standing and gaping. It was incredible, awesome, magnificent! A wonder for the eyes and a blessing for the soul.
And impossible to paint, photograph…or describe. Mankind in all his cleverness will never create anything so beautiful. All we can do is be thankful such treasures are ours to enjoy.