Fall Stroll
Picture this: you call take a short walk up the street you live on, take a little turn to the right and enter another world. So here's a picture or two to give a general idea of just exactly what you'll find in that "other world". In fact, it's a world closer to our origins and to our spiritual needs (whatever that may mean) than the world of concrete and steel that we inhabit. We've had our fill of the latter, and choose, now that we can, to expose ourselves as often as possible to the former.
So we enter the beckoning woods, to our right mature pines, to our left maples, poplars, birch, and sumac. Much of the underbrush, now that it's fall, has shrivelled; the Solomon's seal, the horsetail, the sensitive ferns. A neighbour has dumped his unwanted crabapples to the side of the trail; they've begun to moulder, and robins, not yet flown south because of the really warm weather we've been enjoying unusually late in the season has enticed them to stay yet a little while longer. It's cool today, though, and we're wearing jackets against the damp chill.
We ascend a long sloping hill, at the bottom of which stands a huge well abused pine (it's been smashed into countless times by young children riding bicycles, by the odd utility vehicle used to survey the condition of the ravine by city workers), and the trail stretches out at sharp angles, right - and left. To continue straight ahead one would enjoy a very wet introduction to the stream running through the ravine.
The sharp odour of fallen leaves giving off their acrid tannin fragrance complements the crushing sound of our boots rustling through the leaves. At the foot of the large old pine, though, there is a thick orangey soft-looking matt of pine needles. Last week's high winds even brought down masses of green needles from the ravine's pines. A nuthatch makes its ditzy way up and around the trunk of the old tree, so we know there are chick-a-dees close by. And soon hear their teasing sound.
The recent rain has left some fallen leaves looking like tiny cups cradling rainwater. As we make our way along the trail, one of our little dogs races after a black squirrel and the squirrel, delighted as usual with the attention, leaps to the trunk of the nearest poplar, and from its perch teases the little dog with continued twitches of its black tail. We see a white mushroom with its cap half eaten, and not too far from it, a few bright yellow saucer-size mushrooms, untouched and beautiful.
As we ascend another hill we note with regret and surprise that a copse of small elm and the accompanying hawthornes have all lost their leaves. Little wonder, the wind is up, throwing its weight through the increasingly-meagre canopy above us. Closer to the trail, though, the bright red of the sumach leaves and candles comfort us with their blaze of colour. The long tract of Norway maples have not yet begun to turn their uniform brilliant yellow, and we have far too few sugar maples to make much of a show, yet those that we do have already have lost their leaves and the trail close to the creek is littered with a confetti of yellow, orange, green and red, soon to fade and become dull brown/grey.
A flock of small birds flitter through the branches of short, nearby pines, their wings flashes of white: pine siskins. Their high-toned bright calls lend a definite note of cheekiness to the setting. As we pass a pair of large pines where, years ago we had pointed out to our-then small granddaughter a dome of bark on the ground between the two trees, since disintegrated, we see that a cone comprised of dozens of thimble-shaped brown mushrooms has erupted.
The morning was sunny, but the afternoon turned into a dull grey day, with gunmetal-grey skies threatening rain. This doesn't spoil the ambience, nothing does. The trees, the fallen needles and leaves, the underbrush, all take on varying hues to reflect the differing light conditions, and they all offer us fabulous views of the ravine, all valued.
posted by Pieface @ Monday, October 10, 2005
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