I'm going plant shopping tomorrow. I want to get something in the ground, like a promise, before winter sets in. Snow may fall, trees may go bare, but in springtime, my new tree perhaps will keep the promise of life renewed.
As the pictures on this page reveal, autumn is with us in northeast USA. There is a mix of green and brilliant orange all around.
There are, surprisingly, flowers still in bloom,
And trees stripped of their foliage.
The pond, which in springtime was alive with turtles, fish and ducks, now has one lonely terrapin catching discrete rays on a rotting log.
The pond itself seems to be resigned to the coming cold, to the temporary cessation of its buoyancy. Trees bow submissively in the water,
which is host to floating leaves and debris.
The bench, deserted. In its more brilliant incarnation, the pond would draw visitors who would sit upon the bench and enjoy the vibrant display of wildlife, flowers.
No one, besides me it seems, has come to watch the quiet scene,
the gentle ripples in the pond, the reflections of orange and green,
that almost whisper, "Wait. Bide your time, be patient."
There is no tension, no sense of impending action, as leaves float listlessly.
Some leaves succumb to fate, sink to the bottom and are absorbed, to give rise to new life when the pond awakens in spring.
There will be changes when winter finally sets in.
The first snow will likely cover this fallen tree, which is well on its way to being consumed by fungus, and innumerable forms of life that are living off it now.
Will this stump be here in the spring?
All around the pond I see it, life readying itself for abeyance.
There is the abandoned canoe,
and the stump already covered in vines.
And yet there is defiance. Flowers of every hue hold onto life.
They are yellow/orange flowers,
and white blossoms,
and tiny pink ones, incongruous among dead leaves.
Sometimes the flowers just peek out and grace the ground with a bit of color.
Sometimes, they cover a whole bush with exuberance. I ask myself, "How long can they last?"
Eventually, the cold and time will win the day. Life displayed here will bend to the inevitable, as will this log, already long on the path to disintegration.
Winter may have its brief victory. It will shroud us in cold and dim light. No matter. Tomorrow I plant my tree, my promise. In spring the turtles and ducks will return to the pond. Life will burst forth.
Patience. We will bide our time.
I thought I'd end this piece with a few photos I took at the same park this summer. These were contributed to LIL, the LMAC Gallery, at the end of summer.
Here is someone actually sitting on a bench by the same pond.
Here is a picture of bridge over the same pond.
Meanwhile, I'll leave off with that iconic of all autumn symbols: the pumpkin.
All images are mine, including the accent sunset
Thank you for reading