It’s rough when a season is so laggard that one is forced to turn to poison ivy for color. Vines alter to let migrant birds know their fruits are ripe, ready to fuel those southern journeys. Have YOU seen the scarlet or crimson of ivy or woodbine anywhere yet?
September used to mean fall, and there were songs to prove it. But are there songs about October? For that is the most difficult of the autumnal offerings for me — darker, ever darker, without the blessing of the snows… Walking in woods becomes mysterious-to-hazardous, as sun plunges not only earlier and earlier, but more and more rapidly.
Most Octobers, we have the most sublime compensation — colors like bonfires erupting in all deciduous trees, many vines, certain ‘weeds’, and even rare migrant birds arrowing overhead on their way south.
Not this fall. Wherever I look, at home, at work, in the car, even when we drove four hours north to Connecticut recently, everything is the relentless, face it — boring, dark green of summer.
Do I have any autumn scenes to remind me of how it ought to be?
Can looking at yesterday’s pictures make up for today’s monochrome palette?
I’m never again going to take a colored leaf for granted — not EVEN brown!