October, Alight

In the village, scarlets, plums and golds are creeping into view, their emergence out of summer's dusty greens motivated by cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. When Beau and I potter off in the morning, our favorite hedgerows are arrayed in confetti hues, and there are glossy coins of dew everywhere.

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. I didn't know until a while ago that a colony of koi is called a gasp, and I like the idea, fitting since I seem to spend most of my time gasping at the splendor of the natural world at this time of year. Beau and I visit the maple and her pond on our morning walks until all her leaves have fallen, and the calm waters below her branches are covered with snow.

As often as we witness the turning of the seasons and the vivid entities coming into being, the transition of the village from emerald and jade to October's brilliant hues always takes us by surprise. 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, blithely remaking the world in stunning elemental colors.

In October, northern light dazzles the eyes, and it lingers lovingly on everything it encounters in its journey across the eastern Ontario highlands. I wish I could paint everything it touches, and come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing. All I do is stand here breathless and hold the camera. The lens does the rest.