It’s winter, but some of the autumn leaves don’t care. They were showing off spectacularly during the last break in the weather. Hence, another post full o’ autumn songs and pictures.
The pond’s full up after our flooding. I think they were draining the hotel parking lot into it. On that lovely sunny Sunday last week, it was still and peaceful and reflecting the trees wonderfully.
Really, the trees round here are being remarkably stubborn about the whole go-dormant-for-the-winter thing. There are a few that dropped their leaves as soon as September hit, some that gave in after the first high wind, but many others won’t let go. They’re quite lovely, especially on the drab rainy days when they’re the only bright color around. And of course, when the sun shines through them on the rare sunny days, they are just glorious.
Like Tchaikovsky, who is my favorite composer. A few of you recommended his Autumn Song. I chose this orchestral version because it has got lovely leaves.
Tchaikovsky’s been with me since my headbanger days. Nothing quite like being decked out in metal clothes of the 90s – ripped jeans, steel-toed boots, studded jacket – and rocking out to Swan Lake. No one in my small town ever adjusted.
I got to hear the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra do the 1812 Overature. I had no choice. I would have liked to doze to the sweet strains of classical – it was on a choir trip, and I’d had about two hours of sleep in two days – but you cannot sleep through the 1812 Overature unless you have a pathological condition. It’s the cannon on stage that ensure wakefulness.
Classical often does what I’m doing to you now – starting out rather low-key and soft and gentle. Sort of like “Waltz of the Flowers,” which Heliconia found, and which incidentally is documentary proof that fairies cause seasonal variation – if you’re using creationist standards of “documentary” and “proof.” I’m surprised Disney hasn’t sued the shit out of the poor soul who posted it.
Anyway. As I was saying, classical has this tendency to start out very soft and quiet and build to a crescendo, sometimes with cannon. And I’m doing rather the same thing to you, only without the cannon. The first movement is over, and now things go from mezzo piano to mezzo forte.
This tree popped, people. You know how you sometimes see things you didn’t expect which are so spectacular you stop and gape and stutter incoherently when asked what you stopped for? That was this tree.
It heard it was officially winter, and laughed. Wind and rain shook and soaked it, and it shrugged them off. It waited for the sun, drew in a breath, and belted out an aria of autumn. An Aki-iro no Aria, if you will – Autumn-colored Aria.
Indeed, Warm as the Autumn Light.
Some of you may forgive me after that. I’ll understand if you can’t. It’s hard finding autumn arias, okay?
Now, from fortissimo, we return to mezzo forte, when we unexpectedly run into a last burst of autumn color down by the creek along the ball fields.
The sun, already trying to set on a winter afternoon, hit these low-lying leaves just right. Brilliant!
It seems like it will be Forever Autumn… so I’ll save some of the rest of your contributions just in case, and end with this from Crudely Wrott, whose title is quite appropriate.
And for those of you who need a sadsack song, this from RQ: because Autumn’s [still] Here:
At least for the moment…