Browsed by
Category: fall

Catch a Falling Leaf

Catch a Falling Leaf

Comments 0 Comment

On a walk this afternoon I spent more time than I intended trying to photograph leaves in flight. So many of them are swirling around that it seems I should be able to capture at least one or two mid-journey.

But either the light isn’t right, or they’re eddying about frantically rather than gently floating to the earth. Just as often, I spy the perfect slow-descending leaf but by the time I pull out my camera, it’s too late.

It’s a delicate business, like capturing a single snowflake or the down of a thistle. Perhaps it’s best left to chance.

Autumn Afternoon

Autumn Afternoon

Comments 0 Comment

A late walk through the woods, along the lake, over the bridge, and back to where I started from.

No question what time of year it is. If the leaves didn’t clue me in …

the peg-legged skeleton pirate did. 

But there are still patches of green, remnants of summer left behind. 

A Glow from Within

A Glow from Within

Comments 0 Comment

The most vivid tree in our yard is one we never planted. It’s a volunteer, little more than a weed for years and now coming fully into its own. 

Especially at this time of year, when it seems to glow from within.

The poplars and oaks are bare now, even the Kwanzan cherry has dropped its golden leaves. 

But the Japanese maple flames on…

Leaf on Leaf

Leaf on Leaf

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday’s walk took me on the Reston trail that loops behind the church, a lofty forest and a most beauteous sight on a warm and breezy late fall morning. 

I paused several times to snap a photo, to catch an angle of light, a leaf in its falling. 

I noticed how tumbling leaves sometimes snag and catch, land on other leaves, which cup and protect them, as if to say, we’ll keep you here another day, here on a branch and not on the ground. We’ll keep you upright, limb-bound, a creature of air not yet of earth. 

Saints and Souls

Saints and Souls

Comments 0 Comment

The poet John Keats described autumn as the “season of mist and mellow fruitfulness.” But this is one of the first foggy mornings we’ve had all fall. 

It’s a lovely one, though, softening the vivid yellows of the tulip poplar leaves, making it difficult to see the houses across the backyard, let alone across the street.

Fog is atmospheric and perfect for this morning, post ghosts and goblins, the feast of all saints and the eve of all souls. 

Leaves in Balance

Leaves in Balance

Comments 0 Comment

It’s warmer this morning, a beckoning kind of warmth, a come-out-and-walk-in-me warmth. I need to get up and get out in it, but first I want to write about the leaves, about how somehow, despite the three (3!) trees we lost last month there are still piles of leaves in the yard. 

I must put those leaves in perspective, though, remember the depth of them in the old days, when raking was even more daunting than it is now and my efforts were often undermined by three giggly girls jumping and playing in them. 

Now the girls are grown and the leaves are sparser, the muscles weaker, too, so perhaps it all balances out. I’d like to think it does.

Ignoring the Roses

Ignoring the Roses

Comments 0 Comment

It’s nothing personal, but sometimes I ignore the second bloom. Roses seem out of place this time of year — even a tease. 

Their petals are so smooth and soft, not fluted and dry like the chrysanthemum.They belong to spring, to longer days and shorter nights.

But here they are, a final benediction, a farewell to summer. So I try to take them philosophically, to see in their freshness a promise of spring.

Changing of the Guard

Changing of the Guard

Comments 0 Comment

The beach was only five hours south, and I was away only four days, but I returned to a world of autumn color, more than I’m used to this time of year.  A shot of cold air must have shocked trees into turning. 

It was a pleasant surprise, a suitable homecoming for mid-October, as if while I was gone there had been a changing of the guard.

As I write this post, a shiver of wind shakes yellow leaves from the poplar and the witch hazel. The leaves are dancing as they fall, swirling to earth, covering the lawn, which has seen better days.

Yesterday I left summer behind. Now … it’s fall. 

The Harbinger

The Harbinger

Comments 0 Comment

It’s happened here, and no wonder. The recent rain and chill have probably driven them to it. Or maybe it wasn’t the weather at all. Maybe it’s just their time.

Whatever the reason, the dogwood leaves have begun their march to extinction, their lovely russety turning. And berries have formed, their brightness a contrast to the subdued tone of the leaves.

I look at the dogwood a lot these days, since Copper likes to stand near it while we’re outside. And it has become for me a harbinger of another season, one of burnished brightness and long, still nights. 

Perfect Peaches

Perfect Peaches

Comments 0 Comment

It’s as if the peaches had been practicing all season to look this rosy and smooth-skinned, this thoroughly delicious.  “Last big picking,” they were billed, giving those of us who’d come to haunt this particular booth at the Wednesday farmers market ample warning: don’t expect this fruit again until next July. 

I felt the same tug in my heart I’m getting when I notice turning leaves or lowered light. 

But who can complain when the tilt of the sun produces peaches like these? 

(The astute observer will spot an interloper in this photo. I threw in a lemon to keep the peaches company.)