BY LESLIE REGO
On October 22, 1853, Henry David Thoreau wrote in his journal, “I cannot easily dismiss the subject of the fallen leaves. How densely they cover the water for several feet in width, under and amid the alders and button-bushes and maples along the shore of the river—light, tight, and dry boats, dense cities of boats, their fibers not relaxed by the waters, undulating and rustling with every wave, of such various pure and delicate, though fading, tints, of hues that might make the fame of teas, dried on Nature’s coppers.”
The drifting leaves of autumn create many evocative scenes. Whispers of leaves wafting hither and thither fill our days. When the wind picks up, bursts of foliage swirl forth. Many find their way to the ground. Others come to rest on a lake or a pond or floating down a river. What a joy they are, drifting with the currents, so light and airy that small towers are built until the weight pushes the stacks of leaves into the depths of the water.
- Hamilton Gibson, in his book, “Pastoral Days,” describes the different expression a lake can wear depending upon the weather. “In cloudy days, it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine, it is as bright and blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby-colored foliage along its banks.” I would add that the water itself is home to the golden color of the aspen and willow leaves as they float upon the surface, a burnished gold of dark orange-yellow to strong yellowish-brown.
The leaves, sun, and water dance together. Sparks of light fly. Glimmers of color catch here and there like the facets on a diamond. One moment the surface is still, and the next the breeze wafts, prodding the leaves into a lazy waltz, but as the breeze becomes a gentle wind, the dance picks up to a lighthearted jig. Then the gusts come and the water frolics with the fallen heroes on the surface, dancing a quickstep, quick, quick, pause, quick, quick, pause.
At last come the full-blown winds. Foliage swirls into a fast and fearsome jitterbug, the leaves bouncing up and down, their last hoopla before winter descends.
Leslie Rego is an Idaho Press Club award-winning columnist, artist and Blaine County resident. To view more of Rego’s art, visit www.leslierego.com.
