So it's my 300th photo blog post (I know!) and this week was my father's funeral, so I have been waiting for the perfect picture. And then, today, I saw it, just as we came down the hill there was a break in the clouds and a maple tree lit up, lantern-like, in the hedge
It was such a beautiful afternoon the day we said goodbye. The days before and since have been mostly grey, but that day the whole world was glowing and golden. Somehow, despite the pile of earth and the gash in the ground, it was impossible not to look up at the trees, burnished so brightly they flamed with promise on the clear, blue sky. Those slow moments, heavy with finality, I will always remember instead as illuminated.
Had a busy day yesterday so ended up walking the dog on a piece of wasteland behind shops. Saw a shrub inside some ugly railings in a carpark with these beautifully shaped leaves, like teardrops, and in bright crimsons, golds and greens.
Dogwoods look so neat, they lack the scrubby, unkempt look of our native plants at this time of year and look rather smug next to their hedge neighbours. But the colours are nice now that the Maples are almost bare.
And underfoot, a carpet of maple leaves, their colours bright against the rain-darkened grass.
Now, most of the leaves are past their best and are spotted with age, ready to fall. But there are some still lighting up with the low, end-of-year sun. Like stained glass, translucent and radiant, they are transformed momentarily at a certain time in the afternoon.
