SHELTER FROM THE STORM

Monday, October 29, 2012.  Even the fallen leaves have sought shelter, glistening in the corner of ramp.  Every color of them has come together, tossed about and blown asunder.  In the darkness, only the flash of my camera illuminates the red and the orange and shines on the yellow. They rest a bit, before they will be called again into the swirling pull of the next gust.

SUMAC COLORS

Saturday, October 27, 2012.  My own fall color tour through Central Park, along the Reservoir.  I could see them in the distance, the brilliant red, the golden yellow, orange, the soft salmon and the green not willing to go quite yet.  It was just a patch, just a spot, that wanted to focus the attention of anyone passing by, only for a second - just long enough to marvel at the perfect melding of hues.  It will now be gone in the rush of the hurricane, but I beheld it just that once.

MOON OVER CORN RIVER

Sunday, September 30, 2012.  Abundant, ripe, golden beneath the rising moon, the river of corn stretches to the horizon and beyond.  It has feed mankind for millennia, and others before then.  It flows down, halting at the bank of green, pausing its rush over the field.  The moon seems so far away, beyond the trees, beyond the rise, beyond my ken, but within the boundaries of my thoughts.

BURNISHED LEAVES AND TALL TREES

November 12, 2011.  I was walking.  The wind was moving the remaining leaves northward, and the sun was shining from its new southern slant.  It was a crisp morning.  And then I saw these Sumac leaves - red, orange, yellow, green and brown - they were being whipped by the wind.  So slight and crinkled, hanging on by a thread, pliable in the wind.  The sun highlighted their color, dappled by shadow in the early morning.  I stopped, others stopped too, curious as to what I was looking at.  And then they saw it.