Friday Ramble - A Later Shade of Gold

Many trees in the eastern Ontario highlands have already lost their leaves and fallen asleep in their leaf-strewn alcoves, but many are just starting to turn. Still others hold their turning in abeyance until late in November, and it is a pleasure to see them on our rambles at a time when most trees are bare and dormant for the winter.

Whole hillsides of lacy tamarack have turned gold, and their foliage dazzles the eyes. When I remember their splendor in the depths of winter, the memory will leave me close to tears and hankering for a long trip on foot into the forests of northern Ontario. I can almost hear the crunch of the white stuff under my snowshoes, inhale the fragrance of evergreens and fresh snowfall. 

Butternut trees are always the first to drop their leaves, but the great oaks along a favourite trail retain their bronzy leaves well into winter, and native beeches are still wearing a delightful coppery hue. One of our favorite old maples puts on a magnificent golden performance at this time of the year, and we attend her one woman show with pleasure. While in her clearing, we remember to say thanks for her efforts to brighten a subdued and rather monochromatic interval in the turning of the seasons.

It has been a windy autumn, and it was delightful to learn this week that the north wind has not plucked Maple's leaves and left her standing bare and forlorn on the hillside with her sisters. It (the wind, that is) has been doing its best, but the tree is standing fast. I would be "over the moon" if I could photograph or paint something even the smallest scrip as grand and elemental and graceful as Maple is creating in her alcove. Every curve and branch and burnished dancing leaf is a wonder, and the blue sky is a perfect counterpoint.

Writing this, I remembered that as well as being an archaic word for a scrap or fraction of something, scrip also describes a small wallet or pouch once carried by pilgrims and seekers. That seems fitting for late autumn journeys into the woods and standing breathless under Maple in all her golden glory. Oh, to belong to the woodland sisterhood of tree and leaf...