Solomon’s Gold (solomon’s seal)7
Double Trouble (asters)
Rayed Disc (calendula)
Rainbow and Drops (columbine leaves)
Blue Bright (borage flowers)
Alien Flower (Nigella or Love in a Mist)
Holding Water (mum)
Smooshed (mushroom next to a small railroad track)
Up a Creek Slowly
Rusty Rays (rudbeckia)
Reaped (harvested winter squash and pumpkins)
Dill Burst (dill flower
This month has had me taking more pictures than I have most of the year. While I tried to pick favorites and things that would go well with poetry and thoughts, there were so many I didn’t use. Especially in the last few days because I had a plethora of images worth of posting. So, today, in honor of the end of the Write 31 Days challenge, here is a collection of images I didn’t use, but are so so pretty, I can’t not share them with you.
Thank you so much for hanging out with me this month for autumn pictures. You guys have been the best with your likes and viewing and such. You make it fun to take pictures again.
Sometimes it’s the really simple things in life that are beautiful. I was out snapping tons of pictures the other day and out under our pear tree, the dead leaves changed from yellows and oranges to brown. But it’s pretty shades of brown that have so much texture and simplicity in their scatterings over the ground. I had a hard time deciding which image I liked best, but of the three, this one with the blurred top and the slight greyness to the color, screamed, post me!
The falling leaves
Drift by the window
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold……
The color on the hills are predominantly yellow, green, and shades of a muddy ochre color that mixed with the rest, is rather pretty. The cottonwoods along the creek bank are yellow and the fallen leaves smell of this sticky sweet rotten smell that I love. It’s not really a bad smell, musky maybe. Like the smell of tobacco, it makes me hungry.
Up on the hills the big leaf maples are splotches of yellow, and the nubbly carpet of the black oaks are intermixed with the spikes of the pines. The mist invades and sinks through the trees, veiling them in a not so clear haze, at least it happens on the foggy days, like today was.
It’s mists and breaks in the sun and yellows and browns and spice and sweet….
I’m not terribly inspired with writing a lot, so for today, enjoy this very pink mum that is actually more purple in real life, but came out pink with my camera.
Sometimes a picture comes out more spectacular than I think it will. Today’s picture of a red oak leaf looks like the leaf is right on the glass! It’s kind of amazing how things turn out so perfect and you aren’t even trying, or well, you just don’t think it will be that way.
The colors on the trees has been so spectacular this year, but I have failed to capture enough of it, waiting till it is nearly twilight to take pictures, which does not help. Nor have I been inclined to take my camera out with me that much. But the black oaks are now turning on the hills and there is this fluffy, nubbly carpet of yellow ochres, and yellow browns, tans and various shades of yellow from them. It’s a warm feel.
This oak in the picture turns a lovely red…. then the leaves turn brown and hang on the tree half the winter. It’s rather nasty looking, but the red is especially stunning.
I robbed the Woods-
The trusting Woods.
The unsuspecting Trees
Brought out their Burs and mosses
My fantasy to please.
I scanned their trinkets curious-
I grasped-I bore away-
What will the solemn Hemlock-
What will the Oak tree say?
The Playboy rose has been flinging it up and rounding out the year with another round of blooms. The rose has bloomed several times this year, each flush more beautiful then the last. Roses in October, nearly November? It’s a rare treat. The color like the best can-can show. A flashy little number to liven it up a bit.
Can you tell I love my Playboy rose? We now have four plants. Heaven. I’m in heaven.
Ribbons of the Year-
Worn to Nature’s Party once
Then, as flung aside
As a faded Bead
Or a Wrinkled Pearl
Who shall charge the Vanity
Of the Maker’s Girl?
In fall, it’s common to wake up to lots of clouds with the threat of rain. I’m typing this on the 24th where the prediction of rain is at 100%…. It’s currently raining. I could have sworn there was only a 30% chance, but that is so far from what it’s doing now.
But some mornings there is this thick blanket of clouds, the mountains shrouded with mist and the cold wind blowing; yet in the east, there is this break, right over the mountains. Just enough of a break for the sun to come up a shining, dazzling diamond. Breaking through the mist, shining so bright through the pines, giving everything a golden glow to the otherwise cold morning.
Morning that comes but once,
Considers coming twice-
Two Dawns upon a single Morn,
Make Life a sudden price.
By some form of ‘luck’ we have gotten mutts in the hard squashes. Things that could be Hubbard or something type squashes. This year, the mutts are exceptionally pretty, this particular one being starry like. It makes me think of Don McLean’s “Vincent” song.
Starry, starry night
paint your palate blue and grey
look out on a summer’s day
with eyes that know that darkness in my soul…..
(a personal favorite song, though I prefer Josh Groban’s Version)
The cows are coming down. I’ve written about this in the past(The Magic of Bells in the Autumn), but I have to post it every year. Or talk about it. Or take pictures. It’s what makes the fall. This year I got a really good film. So enjoy that as well.
It is 7 months from spring, and only five months till spring, yet the cyclamen is blooming. Sometimes, after being dormant all summer, I think it gets so excited to have cooler, wet weather, that it decides to bloom again. These pale beauties came up a month after the Autumn Crocus. They are more white than pink, though there is the faintest touch of blush. They are lovely and clean.
Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you hear, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower-but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
Flower in the Crannied Wall by Alfred, Lord Tennyson