In the village, scarlets, plums and deep inky blues are creeping into view slowly, their emergence out of late summer's dusty greens motivated by cooler evenings and gently ruffling winds at nightfall. Autumn brings heavys dews, and when Beau and I potter off on early morning walks, there are glossy coins of dew everywhere.
A small gasp of koi or nishikigoi (錦鯉, "brocaded carp") makes its home in the shaded pond underneath this Japanese maple. I didn't know until recently that a colony of koi is called a gasp, and the frill of interesting but trivial information has been tucked away in the old sconce for future reference. The little pond is fed by a waterfall, and the sound of the falling water is a pleasing music as we pass by on early walks. Beau and I visit the alcove until all the maple's leaves have fallen, and the waters below her gracefully arching branches are dusted with snow. There is a lovely, meditative stillness by the pond under the tree.
As often as I witness the turning of the seasons and the vivid entities coming into being, the autumn 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. Such transformations are magics of a wilder kind, and it is difficult to imagine living this old life without being among them, without watching as they flare and swirl and dance, blithely remaking the world in stunning elemental colors.
Northern light dazzles the eyes and lingers lovingly on everything it touches in its journey across the eastern Ontario highlands at this time of the year, and I wish I could paint everything it touches. Come to think of it, that is just what my lens is doing. All I do is hold the camera. Happy October!
No comments:
Post a Comment