Random ramblings from the cluttered brain of a Brit ex-pat North Devonian trying to keep cool in the steamy summers and warm in the frosty winters of The Great White North.
Tuesday, 5 November 2024
Going, Going, Gone!
This little maple tree is going to sleep for a while. Stay cosy through the winter months, little tree. See you in the spring with a fresh coat of pale green.
Lovely Maple Tree. Our big tree in the front yard still hasn't turned color yet. We need some dips in the temperature for this to happen...not another day of 70F weather. I love it but the trees don't. Sue
A lovely series of photos. Maples add so much colour to fall. I dont know if you are familiar with this poem which we memorized in one of the lower grades and has always been a favourite. Indian Summer by Wilfred Campbell Along the line of smoky hills The crimson forest stands, And all the day the blue-jay calls Throughout the autumn lands. Now by the brook the maple leans With all his glory spread, And all the sumachs on the hills Have turned their green to red. Now by great marshes wrapt in mist, Or past some river's mouth, Throughout the long, still autumn day Wild birds are flying south.
What a glorious tree. I like the filigree of bare branches against the sky too.
ReplyDeleteGreat shots…an exposé.
ReplyDeleteLovely Maple Tree. Our big tree in the front yard still hasn't turned color yet. We need some dips in the temperature for this to happen...not another day of 70F weather. I love it but the trees don't.
ReplyDeleteSue
It’s bare now, but just wait till spring. Then it will be glorious again.
ReplyDeleteA lovely series of photos. Maples add so much colour to fall.
ReplyDeleteI dont know if you are familiar with this poem which we memorized in one of the lower grades and has always been a favourite.
Indian Summer by Wilfred Campbell
Along the line of smoky hills
The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
Throughout the autumn lands.
Now by the brook the maple leans
With all his glory spread,
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.
Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.
What a lovely Maple! There's something sad and yet beautiful about the color of a tree muted with time.
ReplyDelete