With the new month comes a new postcard. Leaves always fascinate me. Not in their collective but in their individuality (a collection of portraits of leaves is in my recent 52/4 journal). This one caught my eye. Let me know if you want to get a postcard of it.
A warm fall deprived us the season’s flaming reds, oranges, and yellows. Most leaves just turned brown and fell to the ground. The frost this morning seemed to be mocking me.
With the new month comes a new postcard. This month’s postcard comes from much closer to home. A maple I pass on my walk to and from work seemed to defy the monochrome of the world. Let me know if you want a copy.
The last moments of red burn brightly in the otherwise monochrome world of early winter. By now even this color has faded to dark browns and fallen to the ground.
I tend to spend the fall looking up at the trees to see the autumn colors. I particularly like the early fall as the leaves form a sort of autumnal spectrum of colors, ranging from deep burgundy in the upper most branches of a tree through flaming reds and oranges, to yellows, and on to greens in the lowest branches. The maples put on a particularly lovely display.
But I also look down for the remnants of those autumnal spectra. The other morning after a gentle drizzle, two leaves lay on some paving stones not far from the maple where they had until recently hung.
The arid forests of the Southwest are beautiful in the fall. Against backdrops of blue-gray junipers and piñons the vibrant yellows stand out. Cottonwoods are the iconic fall tree, and for good reason.
But look past the cottonwoods and you’ll see explosions of color everywhere.
Hikes and walks through these forests present chaotic scenes, often without a clear subject. In this way, they offer less popular photographic compositions—given the current vogue for dominate subjects—but call to mind the sometimes messy and busy compositions of people like Eliot Porter.
Even when a single subject dominates the frame, you can’t escape the chaos that surrounds it.
There’s a freedom to photographing the Southwest, a freedom that evokes the mythology of these wild and untamed lands, and the adventures they encourage.
(These photos were taken during a trip to the Southwest one November not long ago.)
Autumn is here, bringing with it the drizzle of falling leaves and the carpet of those already fallen. Greens, yellows, reds, and browns, sometimes crowded together, sometimes by themselves. I wonder if they get lonely?
A personal trainer was cleaning up his equipment the other day in the park. He was wearing a shirt that said: “You don’t have to train today. The world needs average.” An odd combination of snarky and motivational. Nonetheless his shirt is a useful reminder that everyday is an opportunity to practice and through that practice to improve. So, to paraphrase:
You don’t have to take a picture today, but think of all the photos you’ll miss.
Looking out across the backyard this afternoon I watched a cloud of leaves fall to the ground. Despite the warm, humid day, fall is coming. As the days become shorter and the sun meanders more obliquely across the sky, I look forward to the most colorful season of the year.
Autumn hikes are magical. The rustling of dry leaves in the trees when a cool breeze blows gently through them. The sound of your footfalls muffled by the bed of red and orange and yellow leaves. These are the moments that make fall so special.
Soon, however, all the leaves will have fallen. And then winter will usher in its own quiet, monochrome beauty. But until then, I will enjoy the technicolor splendor of fall.
