This was a Crayola kind of day. What’s that, you say?
Well, it’s a day where if I had a box of 64 Crayola crayons and, if I could draw, I could use every single color! The sky was sky blue; the river, gray blue.
My whole world out front was alive with color! The flag, as always, was red, white and navy blue. The whole world said: “Come out! Come out! Look at me!”
And so, putting my jobs on hold for awhile, out I went to enjoy the scene in sheer pleasure. The grass was no longer verdant green but rather almost burnt orange or burnt sienna.
Now, at the end of October, the trees surrounding us wore coats of many colors. The swamp maples were scarlet, vermillion, sunset orange; other maples wore light chrome green and Mango Tango and their leaves were floating down gently on the breeze while the oaks, trying to hold onto theirs, as always, wore burnt umber and brown.
Interspersed were the firs and pines wearing their usual pure dark green. Our blue hydrangea-painted chairs beckoned me and so I went and sat and listened to the slurping of the water, lapping at the rocks, as the tide began to turn. The wonder of nature enveloped me. I felt well and truly blessed. Blessed that it is there for all to see; happy I took the time to see it.
And then, in a few days, a mighty storm roared in from the southeast during the blackest of nights. All power was lost for thousands of people and instead of venturing out, I hunkered down; we all hunkered down.
The earth became soaked and turned a muddy brown; my river, now a dark gray, had mountainous swells pounding the blackened granite ledges, throwing spindrifts of gossamer white into the air. The rhododendron, now a sickly green, curled its leaves, appearing as if it were trying to stay as dry as possible.
In my mind I saw why my box of colors held its 64: The landscape was now clothed in burnt umber, rusts and browns, sepia and gray, and yet the mosses still kept their emerald green while the leaves turned to maize and goldenrod as they rained down from the trees.
Finally, it all calmed down, and in the dark of night the moon sent a golden beam across my placid deep gray river. All was again peaceful in my world.
Oh! If I could only draw!
Send questions/comments to the editors.
