Dressed today only in russet and sepia, underneath a cloak of raindrops, Autumn painted her lips scarlet to match her passion for life. Whoever said Autumn if full of dead lives hasn’t seen her jumping through puddles.
The chestnut had stripped off its prickly shield for a luscious maroon and blushed a scarlet, thinking herself to be the sunset. For looking down, the chestnut thought she was the cause of the russet, parchment-like leaf… And Autumn sighed.
I saw Autumn lighting up leaves like some russet, amber and scarlet candles to celebrate the approach of Winter. The days are shorter, yet there is no loss in the Fall, but a celebration of what is to come. For tomorrow would be nothing without today.
Perhaps Fall painting her leaves scarlet is her way of reminding us that, even in the Autumn of our lives, we are still beautiful…
Hard to think of scarlet and not to end with “letter” or visualize Autumn leaves floating away with my thoughts… Yet scarlet, originated in the Persian saqalāt, was in Medieval Europe a high-priced, luxury, woolen cloth.
Which autumn color is your favorite? I hope you will return for more colors, seasonal posts and dog stories for all.
He didn’t care that the leaves had turned. All he cared about was his friend, missing. School had started. So he let himself drop among the russet, carmine and maroon leaves, and became one with Autumn.
A game of words to feast one’s senses. Just like the 13th century French word meaning reddish-brown, RUSSET brought us the homely feeling of a COARSE, homespun fabric. Plain, from the back country where rough skinned fruits with a tint of copper grow. Russet apples & pears.
I’ve been day dreaming of Russet pears. Their balmy aroma and textured skin paired with a surprisingly elegant neck. Creamy white flesh, a match for the rusty strikes on their skin. Soft and grainy, like a pear should be. Officially, Golden Russet Bosc. My childhood’s fruit.
I blink the brick wall away, my eyes intent on the piling of russet leaves. Their growing height sets my autumn days on fire. I hide from the gardener. ‘Set them alight today, Miss?’ He doesn’t know. Each evening I frolic in their reddish-brown crackle, a childhood whisper.
Do return for more autumn and dog – related posts. What do YOU like about Autumn?