autumn into winter
Feb. 10th, 2024 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marycatelliThe crabapple is all bare branches except for a confused scattering of blossoms, deeply pink, here and there.
Layers on the sky: dark and loose mist before the clearly formed clouds
Autumn though it is, there are still flowers, snapdragons and spanish needles, that can catch the sun and let it pass through the petals to glow in early morning.
Leafless, the pale branches all look like smoke against those trees that are still fiery.
The twittering of the birds is first, sounding loudly, but since they perch in leafless trees, the flock is visible after you look.
Frost lies on the top of all the bushes like frosting.
The dwarf morning glories show the frost most clearly. The next morning all the visible leaves are withered up like the herbs in a fantasy apothecary's store. The begonias and impatiens have even greater effect, but since it causes them to break down, it makes itself invisible. The most sheltered plants show some damage, but some, out in the open, simply vanish into the ground.
The crescent moon looks enormous with the clouds verging on it, sometimes veiling it, in an indigo sky.
A skein of geese flying overhead is distant enough that the cries are muted, but close enough that the wings are clearly visible as black, and the bodies as white.
The apple trees are losing their last leaves, still a vivid peach shade. Up the road, the stand of trees is leafless and bare, and only the burning bush at the verge is still colorful in red.
A glint in the east, like sunlight off a orange roof. It rises a little higher, growing a little paler, and disappears again behind a higher band of cloud, so that a stretch of light widens and shrinks as it moved from behind one cloud to the next -- until rising above that one, it gleams like a white faintly tinged with lemon yellow.
I awake to white. The misty morning is irradiated with sunlight, and so is an even, shadowless white light. Within an hour, it is gone, but a leafless tree sparkles with the drops of dew.
The sky extends, perfect, flawless blue but for a tiny scrap of white, near the horizon, and only its shape shows it to be the gibbous moon and not a cloud at all.
The stream was in full spate for a single day, but the flood plains about the river are full. The waters are still, with the litter of leaves under the trees not even shifting, and where clear, as blue as the sky.
The roadside of oak saplings with brown leaves and the brush with its branches ruddy from buds blends to a rosy shade in harmony.
A drive through woods on a gray and misty day. Bare branches and the oaks, still hung with leaves, but only in the drabbest browns. Rough outcroppings of stone, with lichens and the litter of leaves. But once glancing at a hillside, there was a bright patch of gray where the rocks had been fit about a tunnel through the hillside.
Snow melt pours down the hill forming small pools by the storm sewer. A great raven and a flock of little black birds gathered around it, the little birds splashing away at a chance for a bath.
Geese fly in skeins, their cries faint and wild, in the midst of winter.
The shadow of a house is paler than the grass about it, with the frost still outlining where the sun has yet to touch.
The gray bark of the tree boughs look like a flock perched there, of dark birds, but it is only the shadows of its own branches and boughs.
Layers on the sky: dark and loose mist before the clearly formed clouds
Autumn though it is, there are still flowers, snapdragons and spanish needles, that can catch the sun and let it pass through the petals to glow in early morning.
Leafless, the pale branches all look like smoke against those trees that are still fiery.
The twittering of the birds is first, sounding loudly, but since they perch in leafless trees, the flock is visible after you look.
Frost lies on the top of all the bushes like frosting.
The dwarf morning glories show the frost most clearly. The next morning all the visible leaves are withered up like the herbs in a fantasy apothecary's store. The begonias and impatiens have even greater effect, but since it causes them to break down, it makes itself invisible. The most sheltered plants show some damage, but some, out in the open, simply vanish into the ground.
The crescent moon looks enormous with the clouds verging on it, sometimes veiling it, in an indigo sky.
A skein of geese flying overhead is distant enough that the cries are muted, but close enough that the wings are clearly visible as black, and the bodies as white.
The apple trees are losing their last leaves, still a vivid peach shade. Up the road, the stand of trees is leafless and bare, and only the burning bush at the verge is still colorful in red.
A glint in the east, like sunlight off a orange roof. It rises a little higher, growing a little paler, and disappears again behind a higher band of cloud, so that a stretch of light widens and shrinks as it moved from behind one cloud to the next -- until rising above that one, it gleams like a white faintly tinged with lemon yellow.
I awake to white. The misty morning is irradiated with sunlight, and so is an even, shadowless white light. Within an hour, it is gone, but a leafless tree sparkles with the drops of dew.
The sky extends, perfect, flawless blue but for a tiny scrap of white, near the horizon, and only its shape shows it to be the gibbous moon and not a cloud at all.
The stream was in full spate for a single day, but the flood plains about the river are full. The waters are still, with the litter of leaves under the trees not even shifting, and where clear, as blue as the sky.
The roadside of oak saplings with brown leaves and the brush with its branches ruddy from buds blends to a rosy shade in harmony.
A drive through woods on a gray and misty day. Bare branches and the oaks, still hung with leaves, but only in the drabbest browns. Rough outcroppings of stone, with lichens and the litter of leaves. But once glancing at a hillside, there was a bright patch of gray where the rocks had been fit about a tunnel through the hillside.
Snow melt pours down the hill forming small pools by the storm sewer. A great raven and a flock of little black birds gathered around it, the little birds splashing away at a chance for a bath.
Geese fly in skeins, their cries faint and wild, in the midst of winter.
The shadow of a house is paler than the grass about it, with the frost still outlining where the sun has yet to touch.
The gray bark of the tree boughs look like a flock perched there, of dark birds, but it is only the shadows of its own branches and boughs.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 08:05 pm (UTC)These are lovely images.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-13 02:52 am (UTC)