marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,

hues of autumn

A road side cliff, covered with vines, is all yellow even before September.

On a warm day, I walk along the shadowy side of the street. Except with the setting sun at just that angle, the sunlight reflects off the opposite windows in a steady pattern and burns down on me.

Hidden by hillside and the thickness of trees, a flock is easily told by its clamorous noise.

A hawk sits on a street scene, its white front mottled with brown.

On the corrugated back of the highway sign, every indentation is filled with a line of small birds as they flock

It rains, it rains, it rains -- the first morning I look out, and the lawn is filled with the mix of rusty grass, dead for want of water, and the new spritely green sprouts -- the second, the sprouts have grown so thick and lush that the dead grass is quite hidden.

The gray day brings out color: the tinge of red at the top of the still green maple trees, the bushes blossoming in masses of white.

The rising moon, cut off by a wall, with a spring of leaves framed by it, is a dull, unluminous copper shade.

A tree, pale green in its leaves, is flecked here and there with ruby-red leaves -- never more than one to a bough.

A bloodied gibbous moon rises in the east, gleaming not at all.

The chrysantheum that decided to grow in my garden is purple. Mostly. A few of the new ones are sky blue -- intensely blue, of the zenith, not the horizon.

A birch tree, and not a towering one either, is all atwitter, but the flock is visible only now and again, if you watch with care, mostly as a hint of dark shadows in the depths of the leaves.

The harvest moon rising -- just a touch of lemon yellow to its light -- illuminating from behind the dappled clouds.

Irises blooming in autumn, all of them the icy white just tinged with blue.

Buying some autumnal plants, perennials for next year, and the garden center is rife with monarch butterflies, all orange flitting about, half a dozen inside the green house perching on the side, others all over the rest of the flowers.

A great skein of geese, low enough that their honking was as clear as if they were on the ground, and forming those wavering lines -- six or seven, not a neat little v.
Tags: nature

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