On my morning walk, the first thing that the woman I met asked was, "Did you see that sunrise?"
"It was luminous." I answered.
As dawn had approached, I could see that half the horizon was hidden by thick dark cloud. Between that cloud and the point of land, there seemed to be a light mist. As the earth turned, the first rays of light changed that space into a glowing rectangle of orange and yellow. The whole space shone. I've never seen a sunrise like it.
As I walked that morning, the whole forest felt luminous. Maple and birch leaves have been falling slowly so that the carpet of brown was dotted with brilliant yellow. Overhead, there were patches of clear blue sky and clouds that dropped rain mixed with ice pellets. The ground was wet as it had rained sometime before dawn. Leaves held tiny puddles of water that reflected the light when the clouds cleared.
Rain returned. From time to time, drops of rain dotted my glasses. Some of the drops falling were white. A pellet of ice caught the sunlight, shining briefly before hurrying to the ground and melting.
Not all the leaves have fallen. This worries me if we get much wet snow as the tree branches will be strained. But I do not mind that the grey of late November is postponed. Yellow shines along the paths and up above.
I raked my lawn on Sunday, moving leaves into garden beds. By Monday afternoon, the lawn was dotted with yellow again. The clump of maples still hold many of their leaves. By the time we have a dry day, the yard will be a carpet of colour. I think I will have to try the neighbour's technique of raking the leaves onto a tarp so that I can drag them to the compost site. Others I piled near the barrel composter so that as I add kitchen scraps, I can add leaves as well. Without that supply, I find it hard to get the proper ratio of green and brown material.
Beside the house, parsley provides a patch of brilliant green. It is still thick and growing. Here by the shore, we have not yet had frost. I still have enough lettuce for our salads, though it is a soft green. Cilantro has not bolted and likely won't now, which is good for some recipes, though I like to harvest the seeds to grind coriander. A few red-green beet tops remain, still growing slowly. Soon it will be time to pull the last of these plants, clean out half the barrel composter and work the compost into this bed.
Most of my pots have been cleaned out. Tomatoes are slowly turning red inside the house, the pots they grew in a rich brown. Flowers have been pulled from their pots, which are now lined up for next year, hidden between the shrubs and the house. This fall, I did remember that the ceramic pots needed to be brought in. They are stored in the shed.
The calla lilies are slowly dying back. The last dark blooms are drooping. I haven't hurried the process, though I may soon. I'm afraid my hands are going to be cold as I pull the bulbs from the pots to be dried out and stored for next year.
The hostas are a wet mush of pale yellow-green, though they too shone when the sun peeked through the clouds. I should be clearing that bed and moving that green matter to mix with the leaves. The next sunny day is going to be busy.
Typical grey November weather will be settling in. We will lose all those bright yellow leaves. The last scarlet oak leaves will fall. But right now, I've come across sheltered purple clover and blooming asters, gifts of colour before winter.
Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway
