as autumn dusk descends

sunrise on the other side of the creek

Snow! Sun setting further in the south along the Taconic range on the drive home. Going through what feels like a cathedral of orange  & burnt orange when driving through a grove of beech trees coming in to Ira. Stacking wood in the back. Middle schoolers waiting for the bus in the darkness & gloom on Curtis Avenue.

A heart subdued,

Yet poignant sadness

is so deeply felt:

A snipe flies over the marsh

as autumn dusk descends.

Saigyo

Zen page a day calendar

piles of leaves

Rainy. The time of the year when the darkness of some of the trunks of the trees are accentuated by the contrast with the bright yellow and orange leaves (not in this picture). Piles of leaves out in the streets. Signs for the Haunted House in Pittsford. They've been doing this for 31 years. Giant pumpkins out in front of Glenn Story's house in Shelburne.

averted imagination

M74 by Alsand on flickr

Rainy. Last night I got up about midnight to finish my sitting for the Term Student program at the Center. I took a glance out the window, and was surprised to see that the sky was clear. It was supposed to be cloudy. I've had two galaxies on my shopping list for some weeks now to finish viewing all 110 items from the Messier catalogue. Quite a feat if I do say so myself.

I quietly removed my telescope from the bedroom where Allyn was sleeping, and went outside. I was hoping Pete was up, but no luck. The red light wasn't on in his garage as it always is when he's out star gazing. I set my sights for M74, a head on spiral galaxy in Pisces. Is is considered to be the hardest member of the Messier catalogue to observe. The astronomer Stephen James O'Meara calls it the phantom. I didn't see anything. I went to M77 in Cetus. This is also considered to be a hard catch, but I found it right away. The sky was very clear. There was a deer snorting at me from the blackness. Back to M74. I scanned the appropriate area in Pisces very slowly. I have to admit that from time to time I seemed to pick up just the slightest wisp of light. I think I saw it. In situations like this, Pete would say you have to use your averted imagination (Averted vision. Get it? Astronomer humor).

When I came in, I put a check next to M77 in my star atlas. I put a question mark next to M74. I would want his confirmation anyway, but I want Pete to be with me when I finish up my journey through the Messier catalog. It never would have started in the first place without him.

twilight commute

Cloudy. Aspen leaves quaking in the wind. This is the time of the year when my commute happens at twilight, in the morning and the evening. I also notice flocks of crows doing the same thing, leaving the woods in the morning, and returning to them in the evening. I imagine this is a pattern they follow all year long, moving at twilight, but it is only in the fall and the spring that I notice them because essentially my commute matches up with theirs.

ordinary

 sumac

Clear. There are a number of themes that continue to recur on this blog. One of the main ones is how something that is considered to be quite ordinary can be extraordinarily beautiful. Consider the sumac bush. I can't think of any bush or tree that is considered to be lower on the pecking order than the sumac. But there are few trees that are more colorful during foliage season. I wonder why it doesn't get the credit it is seemingly due? The only tree that matches it in terms of reds is the amur maple which are now turning up in Charlotte.

tassels

Windy. Dried tassels of corn in the fields, and dried reeds in the marshes. All that's left of the maple leaves is the leaves at the bottoms of the trees. Sometimes they are the most colorful. After doing this for some time, there don't seem to be many new sights to see. The other day in the parking lot, however, I noticed all the pine needles pointing in the same direction. It must have been caused by the wind.

season of leaves

This is one of my favorites

10/7/09
Cloudy. At this time of year, it's possible to see leaves in a different way. I usually think that the natural state for leaves is for them to be attached to a tree. But now that seems as sensible as saying the natural state for a horse is for it to be tethered to a hitching post. It seems that leaves only reveal themselves, show their "leafiness" when they are finally liberated from their moorings on the ends of branches.

On a windy day, it gladdens the heart to watch them chase each other down the road. They seem to be in such a hurry to get to wherever it is they think they're going. It is uplifting to drive under a cloud of leaves released by the wind from tall trees. They resemble a swarm of butterflies heading south for the winter.

On a calm, New England morning, when the time is right, they just calmly melt off the trees, and drop softly to the ground, like hot wax dripping off a candle. Some of the leaves even seem to have figured out that they would be better off indoors, out of the cold and damp. They congregate outside our front door at home, waiting to get in. Quite a number of them do make it inside. One can find them happily ensconced on the door mat in the kitchen at home, and in hallways and offices at work.

titmouse

out the back door

Rainy. Crackling of dried leaves in the driveway. We've had more mosquitoes this fall than ever before. Don't know if it's because of the wet weather, the lack of bats, or both. The tufted titmouse nest has fallen from the ledge above my office. If past is prologue, she'll be back in the spring.

Maple leaf falling down,

showing front,

showing back.

Ryokan

peak

Rainy. Yesterday I had to drive to Springfield, Mass. on business. On the way back I realized that people come from all over the world, and pay a lot of money to experience what we were living. The leaves were at peak, seemingly aflame in red, yellow, and orange. By and large we live in a backwater here on the other side of the creek, but there's no question that the fall foliage here is some of the best in the world.

moon shadows

Back from the wedding. It was wonderful. Afterwards we were visited by the Montana Kahles here on the other side of the creek. The full moon, the "Hunter's" moon was only a day away so we took a walk in the moonlight. We brought flashlights, but we really didn't need them. Moon shadows and yellow maple leaves visible in the soft silvery glow. Sound of an owl from deep in the woods. Cam asked if I had any bear spray. It was great to have them. They are headed to Boston, Connecticut, and then New York City. It's a trip they'll remember all their lives

champagne

Clear. Heading to Buffalo for the wedding. Return of polar air. The sky has a clear and sparkling quality, like champagne. Jen was wearing her wool hat to the sitting the other day. Another sure sign that summer is over. Pine needles on the walkway at work. Pine trees shed their needles just like the deciduous varieties.

double digits

Getting into the double digit months on the calendar. Yellow band of color to be seen along the tops of the Green Mountains now. The foliage season seems a little late this year, but it has begun. The nest of the tufted titmouse has fallen from its moorings on the ledge outside my office. If history is any guide, she will return in the spring to the same spot.

energy

The baseball season is over. Summer is gone, and there is an energy this time of year as we prepare for winter. I split my wood pile over the weekend. It was cold and rainy, sound of geese heading south in the sky overhead. I split wood almost all day on Saturday. Fortunately the rain was just off and on. A friend came by to give me an estimate on some chimney work, and actually helped me split wood for about an hour before moving on to his next job. I love this place. Somehow I managed to pull muscles in both my wrists. They hurt so much I really couldn't help Allyn when she was screwing together her new china cabinet on Saturday night. I finished up on Sunday afternoon, got done about twilight. Chris Levins, my golfing buddy, came by, and helped me split the large pieces, the same pieces that Erin & I had cut in July. When I got up in the middle of the night, it seemed that every muscle in my body was sore. There is a sense of accomplishment, however, seeing the pieces piled up in the back yard. Now all I have to do is stack it.

on a piece of wood