Not this year! No brilliant hues – no harvest fest of flaming color; no bright, vivid celebration. Summer's wake is filled with dolor – dingy scenes of devastation; drought and heat all life subdues. Gone the splendid tree-lined nave; gone that glorious stained-glass glow (eulogies for vibrant life too soon to die in swirling snow) replaced by signs of autumn’s strife, a dirge to honor summer’s grave. Somber shades predominate; russet, rust, mahogany, sepia (snapshots of the dead) now paint the thinning canopy, few leaves remaining overhead – nothing here to celebrate. No ballets now, no symphony. Swirling leaves that danced before fall en masse, muddy raindrops, straight from life to death; no more that final blaze of glory stops our breath and starts epiphany. Flamboyant? No. Serene? Yes. More like Rembrandt, less like Klee – as aging varnish limits range, earthy shades of sand and clay merge into a melange strange, soothing tones for life’s distress.
Written Oct 1998 by David L Brungart - © Copyright