I think that I shall never see...

With apologies to Mr. Kilmer

Autumn arrived this past weekend. With the exception of the Ginkgoes, most of the yellows have faded to gold. The reds are just passing from their lurid crimson fury to a deep dark magenta. Vibrancy is mellowing to calm loamy earth tones as the world trundles toward its winter dormancy.

Because, you know, red.

This is a time to pay attention. To really look closely. Nature uses this time to demonstrate the extraordinary loveliness of death, which is after all, the necessary precursor to rebirth. This is a time to settle into the warm embrace of sleep.

The dying of the light

There is a red maple in my back yard which right this moment is at the apex of its fall color. As the wan autumn sunlight streams through its leaves at steep angles in the shortening morning and afternoon, the overlapping translucent leaves form a kaleidoscope of iridescent shades of orange and red. Soon the leaves will dry, crinkle and drop into the pond below as the tree goes dormant for the winter. But for a few ephemeral days each year the maple puts on its outrageous, delicate show, one last stretch and a yawn before rolling over and going to sleep.    

A psychedelic Japanese watercolor