By Cathy Hird

In the misty grey light on Sunday morning, I drove around a corner to find a scarlet maple tree shining luminous above a pool of still water. I am sure that it was green when I drove that way the week before, but that morning every leaf shone deep red.

Hints of fall colour have peeked at us for a week or two. On one branch reaching out toward the road, the leaves had turned orange-red as if flames licked that one corner of the tree. A splash of yellow appeared in a narrow road lined with green. A few bright leaves dotted the lawn. The transformation from growth to rest, summer to winter, had begun.

It always seems as if the colour is painted onto the landscape. With those trees where one branch has changed, it looks as if something dusted it with colour. As a child, I heard about Jack Frost, that strange being who floated on the wind splashing colour on the trees.

Later, I learned that the colours that appear in fall are the underlying colour of the leaf. During spring and summer, green chlorophyll is produced. This chemical enables the tree to process carbon dioxide and feed itself. Chlorophyll is dominant so green is the colour we see. But the chemical that looks yellow and orange is there all summer, and the one that is red is produced as fall approaches but while the leaves are still green. So autumn splendour is not painted on. Rather, the bright shining colours are revealed as green fades, and the tree begins to rest.

The luminous splendour of that one scarlet tree got me thinking. What else is hidden by the busy process of living, waiting to be revealed?

Last week, I went looking for a place to fish. I pulled over near a bridge and walked back to study the stream. From the middle of the bridge, I listened to the sound of water swirling over rocks. The steep banks covered with underbrush looked impossible to climb down, but the stream below looked crystal clear.

No fish in sight. This was also not an ideal place to use a fly rod, but I pulled out the line and dropped the fly into the water. Young trout darted from the shadow of the rock to nose it. They were too small to catch, but I watched them swim. Each time this little black thing that might be food landed, they appeared.

At a meeting on Saturday, as United Church people debated changing a particular structure which has been around since church union in 1925, I expected the vote to be simple. It was not. Stories were told that revealed deep concerns and strong ideals. Whether or not changing the structure would accomplish those ideals is still debated, but the discussion opened up deeply held dreams and passions.

Drive out of town and into the country on a moonless night. Turn off the car lights, and stars appear. The colder, clearer the night, the more brilliant lights fill the sky. The beauty of black sky and stars only appears when we turn off the lights. The stars are always there but clouds mask them, sunlight hides them.

When we look at the face of an old person and only see wrinkles and sagging skin, tired eyes and frail body, we can miss the wisdom, passion, power of the person they are. They carry a story in them of work they aren't able to take on now but tasks they accomplished, dreams they lived. They hold a depth of wisdom and knowledge that will be shared when we take the time to listen. Sometimes the startling perspective they hold is there in a single quip about something as common as cell phones.

In a desert, rain brings out colour. In some environments, the dry season brings rest. For us, it is the coming of winter that lets the vibrant colours show through. Being still gives time for what is hidden to appear. Conversation can uncover the depth of someone we thought we knew. What else enables us to see?
Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister, and writer living near Walters Falls.