Tag Archives: fall

In Anticipation of Wondrous New Autumn Colors

(We’re not there yet, so pics in this post are from past autumns, in order to show why the anxiety…)

As early September sumac comes crimson gilded, as great flocks of snow geese anxiously ponder mild climes of distant Cajun wetlands whence to introduce another year’s eager hatchlings, soft northern breezes waft among great and somber platoons of red oak, still clad in summer wear. All flora of Ozark woodland doubtless consider for the moment their abundant wardrobes for another autumnal gala, yet to be determined amongst myriad compositions of scarlet, golden, and copper. The black gum tree, always one of the most impatient to don her maroon autumn apparel, shudder in anticipation of icier winds. Rivulets of deep green lichen silently flow over and among powdery, arid rocks of long-desiccated creek beds which themselves patiently await expected rains of amber October and beyond.

Gentle droughts of unfamiliar coolness now drift in determined command of late summer leaden skies, soon to be the order of the day throughout watchful hillsides. Fewer birdsongs of yesterday’s flowery summer are to be heard now. On a lovely poem of lazy winding roadside, verses of mottled burgundy sumac are punctuated by new traces of goldenrod gently swaying on fresh north wind pouring gently into and onto a blissful landscape, joyfully abiding the frequent darts of wrens and nuthatches into their serenity.

At no other time in the life of man has the Creator taken greater opportunity to reveal to His creation the very essence of His Majesty than in the orchestrated chaos of the woodland autumn. Under ever variegated greys in the strata of September heavens, He soon will begin once more to adorn this magnificent world of hickory and oaken hills with hues that only can be drawn from His incomparable pallete, and this for the earthy delight of His created, be they feathered or furred, but most especially for mankind to whom He assigned stewardship of it all. Blessed indeed is he to whom God has given an eye to duly appreciate and delight in the beauty of this serendipitous spectacle of color and an ear to hear the late summer woodland dirges of cicada or perhaps a joyous conversation between a monogamous cardinal and spouse now finished with their burdensome task of attending raspy fledglings.

A dwindling few apples stubbornly cling to summer trees tempting young raccoons on damp and cool nights to gorge in late summer feasts. Oaks of varied kinds have produced this year’s acorn crop, a pursuit no doubt appreciated by the soon to be engaged whitetail deer. Antlers soon will be burdened with sagging velvet in various stages of riddance. Anxious squirrels navigate fallen trees and carpets of last year’s leaves searching out or excavating satisfactory caches for abundant hickory nuts and acorns. Hawthorn berries are coming ripe in ebony tones on shrubs among the undergrowth and persimmons have already embarked on journeys of color transition from summer green to wrinkled destinations of pumpkin orange. Dogwoods, as always, are already ahead of other flora in this perennial race into fall colors, sporting loud coppery foliage interspersed with bright red berries.

The excitement of autumn’s approach grows perceptibly through the woodlands as a sword of lengthening shadows stab into the burdened heart of September as though it were a great dam futilely straining to hold back a soon to be torrent of roaring colors, but all who anticipate the resplendent deluge to come, though wholly imperceptible for now, understand it’s effort is to no avail. Fall will assuredly arrive, absent the Lord’s return – and we will once more revel in the ecstatic glory of her beauty. For now, we must endure with such patience as we can muster, another endless, peaceful September sunset hopelessly clinging to silent green hills.

Enjoy this autumn – the way things are going, our old world might not see many more.

MK

Anticipating the Ozark Autumn World

Little stream not far from our farm

This is the time of year that readers of folkpotpourri know to expect the psychological disorder which I call OCPA, obsessive, compulsive prose of autumn, to overtake this writer again. By now y’all know autumn’s my favorite time of the year, so far surpassing other seasons that it would be unfair to even compare them. I understand that I’d be hard-pressed to render a tribute with even a modicum of word smithery, but this is a free website after all, and everyone knows you get what you pay for, so just indulge me. Besides today is the last day of summer, so it’s technically not fall yet – things are just getting warmed up (to cool down). Anyways, we need something peaceful to think about with all the bad things going on in the world. Here goes:

Random early dogwood leaf

Fallow hickory breezes blow through silent dales as the Celestial palette again waxes encumbered neath thickening shades of pastel grown prepared to cloak brooding gum trees now grown weary of their verdant apparel of yesterday’s springtime blessing. Blissfully now the normally irascible crow cheers this scintillation of the whispered taste of autumn being offered, generous harbinger of the temperate weeks of summer’s wan from haze and endless days of imposing heat. As fall expires, however, this same cantankerous bird will be among the loudest of those carping of the cold.

Image result for free pic of crow in winter
Waiting for spring

Great white oaks undulate in joyful dance upon azure heavens as they beckon a north wind to bring forth splendid new autumn attire, eager to don whichever hue the Master has granted for what surely will become another fete of autumnal majesty, held but for another day, another week perhaps, but soon, nevertheless. The dogwood has already begun to loudly emerge from the sylvan dressing chamber, cloaked in another gown of magnificent copper and abundantly bespecled with crowds of bright red berries clinging to her laden branches.

Late summer dogwood getting changed – not quite dressed yet but beautiful nonetheless

Such is their eagerness to display this year’s boisterous scarlet, poison ivy wends among hickory tops, singing loudly their familiar, red-shaded aria to herald fall’s arrival. As his leaves become gilded with a tint of gold that only the Master artist could produce, the hickory patiently and silently awaits his turn to sing his fallow song – and sing he will, but anon as crisp wind flies upon the hills. Soon icy fingers shall grasp tender green branches intent upon splashing autumn colors on all.

These are from last year – scenes like this aren’t here just yet.

Halls of indescribable splendor will soon grace somber hills of misty silence, all decorated by the same Master whose unmatched attention to beauty and peaceful serenity of a perfectly decorated hillside compasses this sylvan world. The gaudy black gum and sumac are the appetizer, sufficient themselves to sate any hunger for magnificence, yet they only tantalize – fallow hickory and shades of red and rust of stately oaks, and the highly prized yellow and pastel orange of the maple are the main course. Thank God for the beauty He has bestowed upon us!

Maples adding their touches of color to the painting

He created this excellent world of color for our eyes to enjoy – then he created our eyes such that we can enjoy it!

Spring fed pond with late summer wildflowers

Enjoy autumn as y’all are able to get out, and may God bless all.

MK