I caught a glimpse of soft muted colors on the mountain ridges today. Summer has been packed away and autumn’s canvas is being painted, showing just a peak of the glory to come.
The soft mauve-tinted vine will deepen into rich cranberry hues. The pale yellow leaves of the sugar maple and hickory trees will darken into gold that will rival a King’s treasure. Browns, the color of soft suede, will mingle with the other jeweled-toned foliage. The emerald greens that manage to cling to their branches will soften to a celadon shade.
All the leaves, bushes, and shrubs appear to be painted with a soft watercolor wash, but within the next few weeks the mountains will be ablaze with breathtaking views of bold colors. For now, I will enjoy God’s paintbrush’s first touch on the mountains and watch for autumn to unfold.
Sweet readers, come sit on my porch, but bring sweaters and shawls. The ever-present sweet tea pitcher will only be used for inside meals; the porch offering soon will be hot-spiced tea, a changing of the season ritual here in my hollow.
Please come back and watch this spectacle of fall spread across the mountain peaks. It is as if the watercolor pots were turned over by the Master Painter from high atop the ridges and the paints drizzled onto the trees below.
Is that pot of mums the same that appeared on my neighbors stoop? Everyone in the hollow is responding to the invigorating call of this brand new season.
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” - Albert Camus
Love you bunches,