Ah, sweet August, great rounds of baled hay in the eastern Ontario highlands, deer and wild turkeys feeding under the trees at dawn and dusk, shadows stretching long skinny fingers across farm fields at the end of the day, the setting sun viewed through strands of timothy, barley and tall white bush clover...
The shadows slanting across pastures lengthen, grow sharper and deeper as days become shorter, and as if to compensate for waning daylight hours, northern sunsets turn intense. Crimson, fiery gold, inky blue and purple skies, molten light and technicolor clouds are a perfect backdrop for fields of ripening grain.
The evening sun seems to flame amazement as it drops below the horizon. I've always loved the words "I flamed amazement", spoken by the playful spirit Ariel in Shakespeare's The Tempest, and they seem just right for an evening in August when the setting sun is putting on a fine show. Is there magic? Oh yes...
Beau and I lean against a fence at sunset looking west, and our camera and lens can scarcely take in all the riches on offer. The setting sun dazzles the eyes, and a fragile crescent of waxing moon nearby seems lit from within. We know the moon has no light of her own and borrows it from the sun, but it always seems otherwise to us at this time of the year.
The light at the end of an August day is enough to make one swoon in delight. I wish I had a sari in these glorious, elemental colors.
1 comment:
Yes, very much! All you've said, and a wondeful photo.
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