It's a fantastic autumn in Central Europe. As the bright sunny days have slowly shortened so have the leaves begun to turn – mustard, papal yellow, ochre, cinnamon and pepper, all hues from bright to dark with tinged edging and pleasant mottling on some trees. As yet the equinoctial winds have yet to arrive so they stay happily up there on branches – brilliant against the cool blue air.
Beneath the purpling briars and upon the crunchy paths, scattered sycamore seeds and hazel nuts provide a new, textured carpet. Unhurried squirrels, their coats a magnificent rich black, rummage through the abundance leaving behind the spent husked detritus.
A riot of rose hips adorns the bushes in memory of the flood of May and June's wild pink roses, they are the unlikely crimson jewels abandoned beside the muddy paths and untidy garden hedges.
Many flowering plants are still very much alive – the frost and darkness having not yet overcome. Michaelmas daisies eminate their intense ultra-violet radiation and the last of the late purple chrysanthemums tarry a while through the first freezing mornings.
On the cold sunlit water steamy wisps arise, smoking tendrils of uncaptured dragon breath – true smoke on the water.
The ox-eye sunflowers are thriving in scores beside the river, vibrant and saccharine cheerful. Never alone, these solar worshippers rise two metres thick to track October's days, long on light and short on warmth.
Tumbling common dogwood berry cascades have yet to be devoured, the glutton starlings and nibbling deer still too busy elsewhere: when winter sets in these will all have gone.
These late bloomers signify that the inevitable onset of the latter part of the year doesn't mean life is screeching to a halt: the fruits of summer's care can often take a little longer in appearing. There should always be time to enjoy the days of autumn.
Comments