This is one of the two red maples in my backyard by the breakwall. I like the way the branches on the left seem to have caught the sun, and are holding it’s light from the rest of the sky. Of course that didn’t really stay that way - the sun moved steadily to the other side of the tree, and the whole sky went from citrine to crimson to dusky purple.
Even though I've been giving winter a hard time on this blog lately, one of my favorite poems is most definitely in praise of the season. To me, it expresses the love felt by a true specialist in melancholy.
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night's decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
Emily Jane Brontë
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