A brisk wind in the Lanark hills scoured the red maple leaves off the trees on the Two Hundred Acre Wood yesterday. This morning, many of the trees are bare, and their leaves lie thick and soft and rustling along the trail that leads deep into the woods. Walking along such voluminously skirted paths on an autumn day is a sumptuous experience, and I am always tempted to scuffle along, just to hear the leaves rustling around my ankles and below the thick soles of my hiking boots.When I look out from my favourite place on the hill now, the reds have fallen to earth. The undulating Lanark ridges and quiet coves are a sea of gold rather than scarlet, the poplars, birches and ash trees fiery yellow and lighting up the horizon like a whole fleet of sailing ships togged out in amber, lemon and saffron sails. The tamarack (larch) trees near the beaver pond are turning a brilliant shade of gold, and the oaks along the trail are turning too — no gold or crimson for these magnificent old trees, but a delicate faded green at their midribs or hearts, evolving outward into rich creams, rosy pinks, champagnes, bronzes and russets.
There are not enough words in the English language for all these glorious colours.
2 comments:
As I look at your blog - leaves are swirling overhead - I watch their dance through my skylight.
You tempt me to run outside and shuffle through the leaves that are gathering in the grasses!
How I have missed coming by to share your day
Thank you for the wonderful looks at the world of nature
There are not enough words in the English language for all these glorious colours.
Agreed, but you did a wonderful job of it all the same! I love crunching along in the freshly fallen leaves. The wind certainly is efficient in her work. :)
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