It’s Possible To Hear The Beauty
I wish you could be sitting here with me now. The artistry of Mother Nature seems so magnificent today billowy clouds, shadows and a palette of ever-changing colors. I hear the musical strains of John Denver’s “Annie’s Song” coming from another room. Perhaps it’s the song that makes me feel a need to slow down a bit and take in the incredible beauty we so often take for granted.
I realize it’s been nearly a week since John Denver’s death, but I think I would be remiss if I didn’t comment on his music. Denver wrote and sang of the simple yet beautiful things of life - rain, wind, sunshine, flowers, trees, mountains, birds, critters, springtime and love.
His songs took us to places of slower times - country roads, feather beds and sleepy lagoons. Or, if we closed our eyes, we found ourselves flying over the mountains of Alaska or aboard the Calypso on the open sea. His clear, crisp voice and his vision of life touched our spirits. At least, I know it did mine. So, it’s with Denver’s music in the background that I sit here basking in the fall scene spread out before me.
In the valley, below the foothills of Mount Spokane, shadows from fast-moving, billowy clouds dance across fields of wheat stubble. As the clouds move through the area, a few stragglers hover around the tops of the mountains, threatening to end fall and begin winter. Across the valley I see fierce thunderstorms and glorious double rainbows.
The forest that stretches up toward the foothills is beginning to take on the dull, dark color of winter. This somber look will soon be the rich background for the yellows and golds of the tamaracks, aspen and birch.
In the garden, Mother Nature is creating a kaleidoscope of color. The narrow, stiff, green blades of daylilies and Siberian iris bow toward the ground in fountains of yellow/lime green. Fall asters, chrysanthemums, autumn joy sedum and even a few lingering roses add cheerful color to the warm earthtones of fall.
Oak trees are turning to a rich bronze; burning bushes are fire-engine red; maple canopies shade the garden with leaves of yellow, red, orange, plum or stunning combinations of all these colors.
Soon, gentle winds will force the trees to relinquish their hold on the leaves. Drifting lazily to the ground, they’ll come to rest like a warm blanket over the garden. Stronger winds will tumble them across the yard impaling them on prickly bushes and plastering them to fences.
A squirrel scampers across the lawn, cheeks full of nuts. We, like the squirrel, have harvested most of our garden produce and stored it for winter. What plants are left have taken on a certain beauty all their own. Frostbitten, blackened leaves hug upright stems of the pumpkin vines. It seems like only a few days ago the vegetable garden was a sea of these huge, green leaves, hiding everything that happened to be growing under them. As dramatic and as overpowering as they appeared, they were no match for the frost. Now they stand as sentries guarding a field of golden giants. Even the tall corn has taken on a different texture. The once-supple green leaves, now dry, rustle like pieces of paper in the wind.
Just as “Annie’s Song” spoke of filling Denver’s senses, we, too, can fill up our senses with the beauty of the world - the sight of an orb spider’s web covered in hoarfrost, the smell of the air after a spring rain, the taste of sweet watermelon on a hot summer day, the sound of crickets and frogs on a still evening, the feel of a warm fire on a cold winter night.
What fun. Fill up your senses and write your own song.
, DataTimes The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Phyllis Stephens The Spokesman-Review