As it turned out, there wasn't much autumn color. Many of the trees were already denuded of their leaves, while the hackberries and box elders were dull in thinning cloaks of greenish-yellow. There were a few asters around, and the ubiquitous poison ivy, but not much else—the one exception being several modest sycamores growing along the edge of a small pond. They looked great against the intensely blue sky.
This hasn't been the greatest autumn for color, and it seems like I've somehow—for one reason or another—missed the best of even those few peak days.
After all, isn't that what keeps our journeys 'round the year interesting?
8 comments:
Indeed, Grizz... Through the cracks the light gets in, as Leonard Cohen said, or something like it. I just adore the brilliance and longevity of aster blooms at this time of year.
Beauty is all the more lovely for being unexpected.
Solitary…
That's exactly right. And I, too, really enjoy the asters—especially the big, bold, beautiful New Englands, which sport my favorite shade of purple. However, the other asters are lovely, too. We have at least four or five different ones now blooming hereabouts…plus the goldenrod is still hanging on in some places. Just a wonderful show against a tawny field, with a backdrop of multicolored autumn leaves and a sky so blue it's like the edge of the Gulf Stream.
Yes, yes! Unexpected beauty is all the more stunning by its surprise.
First. Grizz, I'm delighted to hear that your ankle has healed and that you are back to your normal, rambling self. I also take delight in these wonderful pictures of autumn at its finest. Every day is precious, especially these autumn days, and how blessed we are to be constantly reminded by nature that nothing remains the same. I'm sure you know that brief Frost poem:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
George…
Yup, ankle feels fine—as it did yesterday, and believe me, with all the running around we did, hours on end, if it's still okay today, I'm certainly healed.
I first encountered that Frost poem in my early twenties, maybe before; it remains one of my favorites of his and of the season because it so directly speaks, in just a few lines, to both nature and the heart of the human condition…a reminder that life's gold—coin or moment—is, for both, ultimately fleeting.
It seems to be so gradual and then, BAM! Color is exploding about and it's hard to catch it before it's gone. :c)
Jayne…
Yes, that's often the way it goes—and this year, I think I've already managed to miss out on all the best days. But for me, what invariably happens is that I think the peak has come and gone, and then a week later—surprise!—suddenly the best of the best color arrives. Frankly, I really don't understand how I can keep falling for the same misconception trap year after year, especially knowing I'm prone to it—but I do, which I guess proves I'm not as smart and preceptive as I think I am…and between you and me, I don't think all that highly of myself to begin with.
Anyway, get out there and enjoy. And keep a sharp lookout, the best may be yet to come.
Well said Grizz. Lovely colour, I think. Here it is especially colourful this Autumn, except that in our area of the UK there are very few berries, which means a sad winter for the fieldfares and redwings who are just arriving from Scandinavia.
Weaver…
Yes, lovely color, indeed, though in only these few days the overall golds and yellows have become more tans and bronzes. I actually don't know how seed and berry production has been hereabouts in regards to wintering bird food—but it certainly must have been affected by the heat and drought of summer…I just don't know in which direction. Lots of berries on the honeysuckle, however.
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