The colours that this November has provided for us have been spectacular. Usually, this is such a grey month, but not this year. It is as if the month is working to wipe away the gloom of 2020. (Although January and February were better than okay: the motivation to act on climate change was building. A momentum that has been hard to sustain the rest of the year.)

A month ago, as the leaves began to turn, parts of maple trees turned scarlet. Then, the main colour was a fiery orange. But as November began and the last leaves changed, they were a brilliant yellow. They shone.

I noticed in town that there are still leaves on some trees, but down here on the windy shore, almost all have fallen. They are slowly turning brown, but right now the ground is a carpet of soft orange. Where I have raked them off the lawn and into the garden to be tilled into the soil, the grass is a rich green. Yes, we have had frost. The hostas are melting into the ground and a few black leaves cling to the hydrangeas, but the grass is alive and bright. (As much as I am enjoying the freedom of leaving my coat in the closet, this streak of warm weather worries me. But that is another story.)

Many years by this time I will go out of my way to find the few trees with bright coloured leaves, but this year, a few red flowers are peeking from the scarlet leaves of the sheltered lobelia plants in my front yard. There are a couple splashes of purple on the delphinium that bloomed late. And I saw a sun-bright dandelion by the road.

The sky. Sunrises have been brilliant, with orange light above the water, mauve clouds and the gentle pale blue as the light brightens. The sun itself has been a huge ball of fire as it appears above the horizon, sending streaks of red and orange across the water.

Sunsets here where the western horizon is blocked by the escarpment have been pastel shades of pink and purple with the sky a soft blue. I am sure the west has been spectacular, but here the colours have been peaceful, beautiful, soothing.

And the water. Midday it is a deep blue, sometimes marked by bright whitecaps. Morning and evening it is the same pastel blue as the sky above, except for those times just before sunrise, just after sunset, when the water turns white. Not the grey of a cloudy day, but silver-white.

As soon as I filled the bird feeders, a gentle grey-red followed by a flash of scarlet told me that a pair of cardinals had found the seed. A shining black squirrel ventured near only to be chased by a wiry red one. There are plenty of bright black and white with chickadees and snow buntings flitting around the jaunty blue of the jays.

The pale grey-blue of the blue spruce provides shelter near the bird feeders, and all around the yard, dark green spruce and brighter cedars stand. The birch is white. The only grey is present in the bare trunks and branches of ash and maple.

Soon, the last flowers will give up. The last leaves will blow to the ground and turn brown. White will come. But for now, these late fall colours brighten my spirit.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway