While there is still a lot of green out there, my eye is drawn to red these days.
Subsequently, I’m slowing down and at times coming to a complete stop. I fight a feeling of melancholy in the fall and know I am not alone. Just this morning, there were several “farewell summer” posts in my friend’s feeds and certainly, the back to school ads have been clamouring away for a month or so now. The sun rises later and darkness had cloaked the meadows by eight forty-five last night as we returned from searching for the elk that has been spotted again in the fields. The red mountain ash berries were barely visible as we closed the front door at nine.
On reflection, the deepening colours of fall don’t always signal a halt to action. After all, it was while climbing the Tenquille trail that I spotted a tiny crimson leafed tree atop one of the stumps left behind by the fire of 2009.
It was in October that I played with fallen leaves to create my Thanksgiving message.
Those mountain ash berries have attracted a flock of cedar waxwings and another visitor that we think is a Cassin’s vireo. Red is spurring us to action as we try to identify this newcomer.
The morning glories and the zinnias pull me to the garden where I linger to clean up the long gone peas.
And then there are the sunsets, which keep me out and about later than I might be.
While it’s not the easy draw and flow of burgeoning green growth that comes with spring, the warmth of red in the fall inspires in its own way.