Hitching a Rosy Ride

Beau and I aways notice our neighbor's bright red Toyota truck on morning rambles, but at this time of the year, his whole yard is a thing of beauty. The towering maple that spreads its canopy over his driveway is dropping heaps of blazing crimson leaves in the yard and on the truck's hood, an eye grabbing performance if there ever was one. Rounding the corner yesterday on the way home and seeing the place decked out in full, flaming scarlet stopped us right in our tracks.

We like to compare notes on the tints of local trees in October, and we tell each other about dazzling specimens, exchanging notes when we meet on dog walks or at the community mailbox a few blocks over. The fiery reds have pride of place, but the golden acacias get a mention too, ditto the buttery birches, aspens, tamaracks and ginkgos along Byron Avenue, the russet oaks in the park. The maple tree mentioned in the first paragraph of this post is well known in the village for its lofty height, broad canopy and  flamboyant autumn foliage, and we have great affection for it.

The village is slowly sliding into the softer, more earthy hues of late autumn, and encountering a little red on our walks is a fine thing. Ivan's truck and his magnificent maple light us up whenever we see them.

Village, Scarlet and Bokeh

In the village, scarlets, plums and deep inky blues are creeping into view, their emergence out of summer's dusty greens motivated by cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. When Beau and I potter off in the morning, there are glossy coins of dew everywhere. No frost yet though...

In summer, a small gasp of koi or nishikigoi (錦鯉, "brocaded carp") makes its home in the shaded pond underneath this Japanese maple, but the fish are about to be moved to indoor tanks for the winter, and when they go, the pond will be a different place. I didn't know until recently that a colony of koi is called a gasp. Beau and I visit the pond and her maple on morning walks until all her leaves have fallen, and the waters below her branches are covered with snow.

As often as we witness the turning of the seasons and the vivid entities coming into being, the morphing of the village into deeper and more intense hues always takes us (and the camera) by surprise.  Autumn transformations are magics of a wilder kind, and I can't imagine living this old life without being among them, watching as they flare and swirl and dance, blithely remaking the world in stunning elemental colors.

Northern light dazzles the eyes, and it lingers lovingly on everything it touches in its journey across the eastern Ontario highlands at this time of the year. I wish I could paint everything it touches. Come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing. All I do is hold the camera and point it. 

Bunch of Gladness

It is -22 Celsius here this morning including the wind chill, and a little blazing colour seems like a good way to start the day, along with a beaker of espresso and a good book, thermal underpinnings, woolly socks and my favorite shawl. Beau is not impressed and is snoring gently on the sofa with his blankie.

It will be much colder tonight, and a severe weather warning has been issued by Environment and Climate Change Canada. Another whopper of a storm will begin some time this evening and continue until early Monday with at least 16 inches of heavy snow, high winds (up to 48 mph.) and no visibility to speak of. Hydro has advised that there will be downed trees and power outages. Here we go again.

There is no point in starting to dig ourselves out again until the storm has passed, and our snow blowers and shovels are ready to go. We will all be outside together on Monday morning, enthusiastically flinging snow about and keeping a watchful eye on each other for signs of fatigue and physical distress.

This will be the second big "snowing and blowing" in four days. Where on earth are we going to put the white stuff this time? Snow banks here are already almost Himalayan in height, and throwing anything up on them is going to be a challenge.

Scarlet, Lightly Fallen

Hitching a Rosy Ride

Village, Scarlet and Bokeh

In the village, scarlets, plums and deep inky blues are creeping into view slowly, their emergence out of late summer's dusty greens motivated by cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. Autumn brings heavys dews, and when Beau and I potter off on early morning walks, there are glossy coins of dew everywhere. 

A small gasp of koi or nishikigoi (錦鯉, "brocaded carp") makes its home in the shaded pond underneath this Japanese maple. I didn't know until recently that a colony of koi is called a gasp, and that frill of interesting but trivial information has been tucked away in the old sconce for future reference. My neighbor's pond is fed by a waterfall, and the sound of the falling water is a pleasing music as we pass by on early walks. Beau and I visit the alcove until all the maple's leaves have fallen, and the waters below her gracefully arching branches are dusted with snow. There is a lovely, meditative stillness by the pond under the tree, in all seasons.

As often as I witness the turning of the seasons and the vivid entities coming into being, the autumn morphing of the village into deeper and more intense hues is always enchanting. It takes us (and the camera) by surprise each and every year. Such transformations are magics of a wilder kind, and it is difficult to imagine living this old life without being among them, without watching as they flare and swirl and dance, blithely remaking the world in stunning elemental colors.

Northern light dazzles the eyes and lingers lovingly on everything it encounters in its journey across the eastern Ontario highlands at this time of the year, and I wish I could paint everything it touches. Come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing. All I do is hold the camera. Happy October!

Seeing Red

Friday Ramble, Village of Scarlet and Bokeh

In the village, scarlets, plums and deep inky blues are creeping into view, their emergence out of summer's dusty greens motivated by slightly cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. When Beau and I potter off in the morning, there are glossy coins of dew everywhere. No frost yet though...

In summer, a small gasp of koi or nishikigoi (錦鯉, "brocaded carp") makes its home in the shaded pond underneath this Japanese maple, but the fish are about to be moved to indoor tanks for the winter, and the pond will be a different place, still and silent. I didn't know until recently that a colony of koi is called a gasp. On morning walks, Beau and I visit the pond and maple until all her leaves have fallen, and the water below her eloquent branches has frozen over and is covered with snow.

As often as I witness the turning of the seasons and the vivid entities coming into being, the morphing of the village into deeper and more intense hues is always enchanting, and it takes us (Beau and I) by surprise each and every year. Autumn transformations are magics of a wilder kind, and I can't imagine living this old life without being here among them and watching as they flare and swirl and dance, blithely remaking the world in stunning elemental colors.

Northern light dazzles the eyes in autumn, and it lingers lovingly on everything it touches in its daily journey across the eastern Ontario highlands. Why do I say such things? It is we restless mortals who are in ceaseless motion, and not the magnificent star at the center of our galaxy. I wish I could paint everything old Helios touches, but come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing. All I do is hold the camera.

Hitching a Rosy Ride

Creeping Into Autumn

Down to the River and Scarlet

Around the corner, three song sparrows are trilling their hearts out from a rooftop.  Their pleasure in the day and the season is echoed by a construction worker a few doors away belting out Doug Seegers' “Going Down to the River” as he installs drywall in an old Victorian around the corner. The door of the place is wide open, and his rendering of the gospel classic is somewhat off key, but it's a right soulful crafting and fine stuff indeed.

There are tulips everywhere and in every shade of the rainbow, but it is the reds that dazzle truly - the blooms are almost incandescent in the early sunlight and so bright they hurt one's eyes. Frilly daffodils and scarlet fringed narcissus nod here and there, and violets sprinkle the garden in deep purple and creamy white. A neighbor's bleeding heart bush is covered with tiny green buds swaying to and fro on artfully arching stems.  Magnolia trees in the village are coming to the end of their flowering, and they rain fragrant petals like snow. Wonder of wonders, the first few bumble girls of the season have arrived, just in time to partake of the crabapple blossoms that will be out in a day or two.

What a splendid trip springtime is, and how much there is to feast one's eyes on. If we were to stop and take photos of every splendid thing we see on our morning walks (and absolutely everything is splendid at this time of the year), we might not get home again for weeks.

October in Scarlet and Teal

Scarlet, Lightly Fallen

Tree of Gladness

Village, Scarlet and Bokeh

In the village, scarlets, plums and deep inky blues are creeping into view, their emergence out of summer's dusty greens motivated by cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. There are rumors of frost in the village, and when Beau and I potter off in the morning, there are glossy coins of dew everywhere. No frost yet though...

In summer, a small gasp of koi or nishikigoi (錦鯉, "brocaded carp") makes its home in the shaded pond underneath this Japanese maple, but the fish have been moved to indoor tanks for the winter, and the pond is a different place, still and silent. I didn't know until recently that a colony of koi is called a gasp. Beau and I visit the maple and her pond on our morning walks until all her leaves have fallen, and the waters below her branches are covered with snow.

As often as I witness the turning of the seasons and the vivid entities coming into being, the morphing of the village into deeper and more intense hues is always enchanting. It takes us (and the camera) by surprise each and every year. Autumn transformations are magics of a wilder kind, and I can't imagine living this old life without being among them and watching as they flare and swirl and dance, blithely remaking the world in stunning elemental colors.

Northern light dazzles the eyes, and it lingers lovingly on everything it touches in its journey across the eastern Ontario highlands at this time of the year. I wish I could paint everything it touches. Come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing. All I do is hold the camera and point it.  Happy October!

Seeing Red

Oriental Poppy (Papaver orientale)

In the Red

June would not be June without a great big planter of red geraniums (cranesbills) blooming on the walk in front of the little blue house in the village.

The flowers are a long standing tradition, and every year, I remember their vivid ancestors who graced our threshold in summers past and greeted everyone who came to the door. I remember their shape, their color, their texture, their green and rather peppery fragrance. Perfection in every way, and I thank them.

Happy June, everyone!

Seeing Red

Bunch of Gladness

Thursday Poem - Don't wait for something beautiful to find you.

Go out into the weather-beaten world
where straw men lean on frozen fields
and find the cardinal's scarlet flash of wing,
a winter heart, a feathered hope.

Without a camera or a memory,
we travel these old country roads,
turn corners like the pages of a book,
enchanted by the ordinary life

of fields and rocks and woods,
of small wild creatures stirring in the brush.
We take home pockets full of myths
and wonders seldom seen.

We will not give up easily,
Across the breakfast table
in our precarious nest,
we make those promises keep on going

that no one ever keeps.  And yet...
there is the cardinal again,
a finial on our old gray fence.
Red is for Valentines.


This morning's poem is reprinted with permission from Dolores Stewart's gorgeous volume of poetry, The Nature of Things.