In the village, scarlets, plums and deep inky blues are creeping into view, their emergence out of summer's dusty greens motivated by much cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. Last night, there was frost in the village, and when Beau and I went out briefly around four o'clock this morning, there were glossy coins of frost from one side of the deck to the other.
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 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, remaking the world in elemental colors.
Northern light dazzles the eyes, and it lingers lovingly on everything it touches in its journey across the eastern Ontario highlands. I wish I could paint everything it touches. Come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing.
2 comments:
Those colors call to us to paint, capture with a camera, preserve in a poem.
So glad to see your color...as ours is very limited (so far) this year. Too much rain, too warm (so far.)
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