The Book of Autumn


It's so beautiful in the fall. Judging by the size of my photo files for September, it's my favourite month.

red leaves | Angela Fehr

Drinking in the richness of leaves in transition, hues of gold, violet, cranberry. The sunsets missed through the long days of summer, flaring streaky over cobalt-shadowed landscape. Harvest haze of wheat chaff, farmers haloed in the glare of combine lights. I love the swirl of leaves as we meander down aspen-lined country roads, and the sleepy trickle of creeks banked with tangled purple-red cranberry bushes.

Autumn has been long been used as a metaphor for ending, the slow closing of a life-book. But I think autumn is a celebration of the generosity and abandon of summer. It's a season set apart for memory and gratitude, a space to take a breath and savour all that has passed. To make that entry in memory's diary and sign it with a flourish.

If summer was a party, fall is a meditation.

leaves & fence post | Angela Fehr

ArtAngela Fehrphotography, prose