Frost, Field and Turning Maples

As her appointed time draws to a close, autumn swirls her gypsy skirts and does a last high kick, shakes her tambourine furiously, gives a tad-da with her arms upraised. She lets the great wide world know that she may be leaving, but she will be back.

Every year, a few village maples add their own dazzling touches to the performance in progress. Freewheeling creatures that they are, they do their own thing in their own way, and they do it in their own good time, long after their woody kin have fallen asleep for the winter. Scarlet, orange and gold leaves in November? Bring 'em on.

Scoured by the icy north wind, most of the other trees nearby have been bare and whiskery for several days, but the later turning sisters are standing their ground and putting on a grand show.  No supporting roles for these blithe spirits.

After putting the Samhain/Halloween clobber away for another year, I was feeling a little blue about the vanishing scarlets, oranges and golds. Ditto the ochres, the rusts and the coppery browns. Here's to the madcap, insouciant maple sisters. I needed this.