… that late afternoon light glowing through the last leaves still hanging.
Most trees have lost all their leaves, so those that still cling to the branches seem the most jubilant — the ones that won’t give up.
Finding this bridge of leaves over a street in Calistoga, California, was a special treat!
The “shiny” negative space in this photo imitates the leaves. That’s why I love this one.
This photo wasn’t from this fall. We had a dry summer and it seemed that the leaves were dull and boring compared to other years. I did enjoy one beautiful weekend in Connecticut with a group of friends from my hometown. We stayed at my daughter’s home for a long weekend, and the weather was perfect. We visited wineries and Newport and the beach and the casino and an apple festival. The leaves in CT were at their peak and surprised us all along Rte. 2 south of Hartford. We had a wonderful time, but it was over before I knew it. And I don’t think I thanked them enough for coming.
The longer she kept walking forward, the less often she looked back.
The less often she wanted to turn around.
The less often she waited to see if anyone was coming up behind her.
She liked the sound her sneakers made on the gravel roadway.
She could hear a creek running far below.
She could see the morning steam rising off the hillside.
She knew wherever the road led would be fine.
Because she’d never been there before.
Every summer when I visit Marcus,
the last thing I do is walk in the field of sunflowers
south of town.
It reminds me of my comings and goings
and how life goes on.
The grasshoppers will be jumping,
and the dew will drench my sneakers.
I’ll track mud back to the rented car,
and that little bit of Iowa
will travel across the country
I used to dream a lot of flying.
Not flying, really.
Soaring. Lifting right off the ground.
I could do it whenever I wanted.
Just slip free of the earth
and look down from on high.
Maybe it’s because I grew up here,
where the sky is wide
and there’s a lot of room to soar.
Or maybe it’s because
I never really felt
The wind was always
to come along.
Family working in the field circa 1950s
“The Gleaners” by Jean-François Millet
First, obviously, one is not a photograph. It is a painting, called “The Gleaners” by Millet, of women collecting the remaining wheat after harvest. It was painted around the 1850s.
Second, I didn’t take the photo. It was taken by my grandfather, and shows my family picking ears of corn that were left behind after corn picking. They, too, are gleaning. It is the 1950s.
In memory, the painting was on our porch wall.
I’m struck by the similarities of the two images almost 100 years apart.
And how women bend at the waist.
And how the earth provides.