The Dying Colour

I adore autumn!  Everything putting on a frenzy of colour, one last messy party before all is tucked up in winter's cold bed. Colours come alive in autumn in a special way. 

I like taking walks in Clifton Grove for its aloneness.  There's one path through the trees, bushes, brambly wild things, and wildflowers that goes alongside the steady flowing Trent River.  I seldom meet any one along the path, occasionally a few dogs and owners, but mostly it's just me and the woods--- where I feel my free-est.

We don't really like to talk about death and death itself is not a beautiful thing, but I'm the type who tries to look for beauty in even the darker aspects of life.  Death doesn't have to be just darkness and sadness, it too can have colour and beauty.  Autumn is just that.  Even the dying has colour.

Delicious autumn!  My very soul is wedded to it,

and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth

seeking the successive autumns.

George Elliot

Feathers hang off branches and leaves, making it look as if the little birds rushed through changing clothes as they went. 

Thistles, a flower not a weed. 

The land created me. I'm wild and lonesome. Even as I travel the cities, I'm more at home in the vacant lots.

Bob Dylan

For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous.

Edward Abbey

Photographs by Clementine & Fig