Red everywhere, oranges, golds, rich oaken browns and even a sparkling burgundy there among the turning leaves of milkweed...This is the season of riotous northern colors and bracing wind songs. The colors are not the fresh verdant roles of springtime, but the exuberant parting performances of dusty old summer friends as they pack up their stuff and get ready to tumble gracefully away to earth. Here are their shining moments at center stage, their whirling dances and their last plangent songs.
The wind composes a hollow symphony out there among the old stones of the highlands, and the leaves perform their seasonal choreography to the music. How could anyone with even a scrap of awareness witness this magnificent seasonal performance and not be filled with wonder and gladness? I shall never understand that.
As I rambled the woods this weekend, there was a poem suspended in sunlight somewhere above my head, a few verses about a cloaked crone wandering through the rocky hills in autumn. In the fierce wind, she looked rather a tattered leaf herself, or perhaps an acorn.
3 comments:
Beautiful!
Fabulous! Thank you, Cate.
~Suzanne
The drops of dew on red are magic
I love the fall colors
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