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 others are just starting to turn. Some hold their turning in abeyance until late in November, and it is a pleasure to see them in red and gold at a time when most of their kin are bare for the winter.

Whole hillsides of lacy tamarack are bright yellow, 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. 

Butternuts are always the first to drop their leaves, but the great oaks along our favourite woodland trail retain their bronzy leaves well into winter, and native beeches are wearing a delightful coppery hue. One of our favorite old maples puts on a splendid 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 up this rather subdued 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 loosened  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 above her is a perfect counterpoint.

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