Autumn is settling in, the leaves are crispy underfoot, and the sparkle on the river is courtesy of a sun meeting the trees a little earlier each day. Come walk with me …
The path to the river is thick and overgrown with the remains of summer. It’s just a step over the old, forgotten railroad tracks and through barely matted weeds to the crest overlooking the river’s edge.
Greens become burgundy and slowly drape over a slate walkway.
A faceless wraith overlooking the road to the bridge.
Late afternoon shadows fall across dried leaves, grass, and the road, which runs parallel to the river.
Froggy statuary graces a small garden spot. I am tipping my hat to Portland as I pass.
The Delaware River, looking north, a view that never wears thin, especially when it reflects a sky so insistently blue.
Covered with tombstones, ghosts, and mums, my neighbor’s fence looks even spookier at night with orange and purple lights, a big draw to Halloween night’s trick or treaters.
I never fail to be aware, and grateful, for the beauty and kindness that surrounds me where I live. Especially now. Quality of life counts for a lot.
The sun has not shown its face all day, there is a chill in the air, and I felt a call to go walking. The Delaware River, rippling in the breeze beneath a moody sky, has a flawless beauty in every kind of weather.
The last roses of summer tangle with a shrub with red feathery flowers under a tree slipping into her bronze foliage.
This small ancient barn and its weathered doors still hold some fascination for me. They are such a willing photographic subject.
The tracks heading north out of town and the surrounding greenery were recently treated to a little freshening up for a townwide event. Once upon a time, these tracks were used by trains hauling grain from the town’s mill to destinations both north and south.
I recently saw some advice – “Walk Happy.” I like that advice.
As I sat in the corner of the couch next to the front window, journaling as I do each morning, Jazzy curled up next to me, I looked outside. It was breathtaking. The sun had barely risen and there was a low fog clinging to the ground.
If I were the kind of person to run outside at that hour in my bathrobe, I would have been everywhere, taking pictures of the neighborhood in that ethereal atmosphere. But I am not. I waited until I had showered, made coffee, fed Jazzy, and then I ran out. The sun was just clearing the mist, and casting shadows across a large pine and the leaves along the road’s edge.
At the end of the block, the mist was thinning on the river. This is a view of the Delaware that I never tire of, though I love it most in fall and winter. The white tree – perhaps a sycamore – always just pops in the landscape, like someone took a brush and painted it there.
I walked past this tree that seems aflame. The color is so all-consuming that I honestly can’t remember what it was before, if it was ever green. Even as I write this, I’m smiling, because some of my gardener and blogging friends probably know exactly what all these trees are. Me? I’m by and large a humble fan.
Before I came to this side of the state, I didn’t know what rural delivery was. Sure, you saw mailboxes like those above in movies, but my mail had never been delivered like that. It came in the mailboxes on our houses or in apartment vestibules, and we dropped our mail off in the big, blue mailbox on the corner, or at the post office. Here, I can put outgoing mail in my mailbox, pull up the little red flag, and the postal driver takes it away. I found this convenience magical.
My neighbor texted a photo to me on Halloween, showing me how an ancient tree that had been slowly dropping lower and lower over the nearby street had finally given up and broken. Local traffic could not pass, and this would undoubtedly be a problem for trick-or-treaters. Soon after, I heard the sound of chain saws. This morning I had the first moment to look at the tree, one I’d known and passed by for fifteen years. It was a sad sight, yet I couldn’t help but notice the bright yellow sprout, now visible behind the remains of the aged tree, as if carrying on the torch of the brilliance of life.
I am always awed by the beauty of this river, whether edged with crisping rust leaves, swollen and grey after a storm, or reflecting a bright blue sky on a sunny day. I am so grateful for the richness around me, even that which can be found on a short walk. The simplicity of our natural world is such a balm to all the worries and negativity of the world that might assault us if we’re not careful.
There is so much to be thankful for … in this brief moment of time in which a holiday reminds us to consider our many gifts, but also in every day. We only need to remember and look around us.
Fall this year seems different. It seems to be taking longer to be … well, fall. Not to complain. The days have been mostly sunny and in the 70’s for weeks, and in the 50’s-60’s at night. Heaven, really.
On my front porch, fall has arrived at my door with a basket of leaves and a pumpkin I picked up from Melick’s Farm in Oldwick a few days ago. In the morning sun, it glows so nicely.
Meanwhile, on my back porch, summer still reigns, and the vivid pop of color from Impatiens cheers up the quiet afternoons.
And the coleus (which you saw a few posts back) just continues to grow like wildfire. The will to live and grow that these plants have is undeniable, and I have already decided that they will stay in their favorite spot until the frost, whenever that may be. I’ll be sorry when they go – they’re such a bright spot when I go down to get the mail or hop in the car. I don’t think I’ve ever been more vigilant about a plant’s needs. Especially when all they ask is to be watered.
Inside, fall has come to grace the spots that welcome seasonal touches … the oak washstand in the hallway, and spots all about the house that welcome autumn colors and textures. Likewise I have switched my dishes to those I use for fall and winter, and am happy to put away the bright colors of spring and summer.
There’s something so home-y about the fall colors, so cozy and warm.
Outside, the trees have not yet turned color, not many leaves even fallen yet. Days are beginning to get noticeably shorter. Apples are coming in to the local farmstands, along with pumpkins and gourds of every color and pattern, though there’s still plenty of fabulous corn and tomatoes to be had. Soon there’ll be freshly pressed cider, and a chill to the air.
Still A Dreamer 