| | Colourful hues bounced past green, destination unknown. Some land below, drying to crunch and crackle under foot. The wind speaks to the leaves. It’s the season of swirling, rough and tumble, playing in the grass like floppy puppy ears. Softly sailing, plop, plunk, jump, tangled in branches, nestled in rocky corners, unable to decide if it’s time to explore or rest on a mossy green. Far above, others wait for the next exuberant breeze to shake them loose from their summer home. Whisking them across the blue, cloud-filled sky so they can tussle and play in the wind. |
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Fall, I think, is my favourite time of year. The colours of the land change each day. The thought of taking a picture of something when I go out tomorrow is usually too late. The frost and cooler temperatures show no mercy towards the procrastinating of my photography whim. You would think I would learn, yet the next day always presents me with something else just as enjoyable.
There is a freshness in the air. The summer heat, which I abhor, quickly becomes brisk mornings, often with my breath showing its own frosty haze as I walk, or sit on the deck with my coffee. The cooler evenings and the frosted air of overnight give way to covering some outside plants with sheets. Nights like these I embrace throwing the window open to let the freshness in, filling the room for a contented sleep.
Sunrise is later, and planning to capture its trip over the East skyline on film needs to be coordinated with when the coffee will be ready to pour into the thermos to take along on a pre-dawn road trip. This early morning rise on my part to do both is always worth it.
The smell of fall is full and pungent. Rotted leaves mixed with the soil, and a breeze that says snow can come anytime. The sounds of birds winging south to warmer climates fill the air, and the rabbits’ coats turn from brown to white. The sight of horses and other stock hairing up is a sure sign of the season’s transition to colder weather and winter. Squirrels have been storing nuts at the base of trees all summer. The larger the storage pile, the harsher the winter, so the old timers say (my dad and grandmother’s era). And I say this too, because it is a given that if we watch what the animals are doing, we can learn a lot about the weather.
Leaves that are coming to the ground from trees readying themselves for winter present a colourful palette in every direction. The sights, pictures, paintings, and the writing imaginations the eye is drawn to fills the gray matter with much descriptive research material to archive for another day.
I know this is my favourite time of year.
There is a freshness in the air. The summer heat, which I abhor, quickly becomes brisk mornings, often with my breath showing its own frosty haze as I walk, or sit on the deck with my coffee. The cooler evenings and the frosted air of overnight give way to covering some outside plants with sheets. Nights like these I embrace throwing the window open to let the freshness in, filling the room for a contented sleep.
Sunrise is later, and planning to capture its trip over the East skyline on film needs to be coordinated with when the coffee will be ready to pour into the thermos to take along on a pre-dawn road trip. This early morning rise on my part to do both is always worth it.
The smell of fall is full and pungent. Rotted leaves mixed with the soil, and a breeze that says snow can come anytime. The sounds of birds winging south to warmer climates fill the air, and the rabbits’ coats turn from brown to white. The sight of horses and other stock hairing up is a sure sign of the season’s transition to colder weather and winter. Squirrels have been storing nuts at the base of trees all summer. The larger the storage pile, the harsher the winter, so the old timers say (my dad and grandmother’s era). And I say this too, because it is a given that if we watch what the animals are doing, we can learn a lot about the weather.
Leaves that are coming to the ground from trees readying themselves for winter present a colourful palette in every direction. The sights, pictures, paintings, and the writing imaginations the eye is drawn to fills the gray matter with much descriptive research material to archive for another day.
I know this is my favourite time of year.
| Ann Edall-Robson Author, Photographer, Lover of Life "Capturing moments others may never get to experience.” to edit. | Be the first to get all our latest news and updates. |
August 15, 2022, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that uses the idea or phrase, “floppy as puppy ears.” You can be explicit or implicit with your response. What is floppy and why? It doesn’t have to be about dogs at all. Go where the prompt leads!
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