Seasoned Reflection

Flirtatious: "You ought to be in pictures. Mine!"

Real Mood: Oblique

Prediction: Fall won't arrive in Christ Church, New Zealand until March.  It won't even show up next year in Tierra Del Fuego.

I love the Fall for a whole bunch of reasons.  My  body really likes the Fall thermometer. I love what happens to leaves when the chlorophyl runs out of their veins. I always remember Fall weddings, Fall colored shirts and skirts. Fall full moons? Oh baby! My two favorite holidays?  Halloween and Thanksgiving come in the Fall. Call me weird, but I like the subtle melancholy that comes with the territory.  Fall picture taking is my favorite. And I'm not just talking leaves here.

I'm not above the use of an occassional cliche. But that cliche must at least have a "double entendre" or "oxymoron" to go along with it before it meets my standard. That's why I can call most Fall days "picture perfect" days.   I once proposed doing that exact story in a newsroom. Mind you it was a ssllooww news day.  And it was a big risk.  I would have to prove it.

Turns out most professional landscape photographers love Fall days. At least here in the Rocky Mountains, something happens to the atmosphere. Mountains that normally form a soft distant background in a frame, jump into sharp focus in the Fall.  They seem to be a few blocks away.  The depth of field is miraculous in the Fall. Every thing in the shot comes into focus. If you are selling something with pictures? Take those pictures in the Fall.

Thanks to my producer friend Deb Stanley we got to put that story on the air, cliche and all. It was tough catching up with those professionals because they were all out shooting.  Some of them thought Fall should remain a secret.

What I like about picture takin' in the Fall is the angle of the sun. It's not just the birds that fly south for the winter. So does the Sun. All day long you get these big ol' wonderful shadows. At dawn and dusk they are gigantic.  And they are mood casting. Well, you know, that reminds me of a poem I once wrote?

 

PARKED

I'm standing here in the park,

in the dark,

just me, Paul

and the leaves of Fall.

 

The diamond shaped field oe'r there,

is so bare,

no ball playing now,

just noiseless air.

 

The silver lake is just ahead,

not a ripple, no splash,

no sails and no birds

just some flying trash.

 

Past the lake the Zoo sleeps, too,

not a sound,

wait, a hoot owl? No,

a horn from town.

 

A naked branch makes eerie forms,

fists with rocks,

asking me if I'd

like to shadow box.

 

Crunch of dead leaves the top noise,

in a mad rustle,

leaves of anger,

leaves and wind in a tussle.

 

I'm standing ankle deep in color,

like an iced in duck,

I can't move,

stuck in the muck.

 

I'm enveloped, overcome,

Huh? no escape?

You say a good mulching

should whip me into shape?

 

See you in the Spring I guess!  

Did I tell you I really like Fall temperatures?