Fragments From Floyd

A cloud has come to spend the peak of the leaf-peeping season roosted along the spine of the mountains. Today and tomorrow would probably be the two best days for visiting tourists who would come to see the color change at its finest. Some will come, but they will not see much beyond the edge of the road, and that, the blue listless monochrome that comes with light sifted through a wet foggy filter.

This always impresses me when I see it, even though it should not be new information to me. But then, I am easily dazzled by light:

From the front porch yesterday afternoon, I watched as tufts and wisps of ground fog levitated up out of the poplars and oaks, whose leaves and branches were washed of color like very old and lightly hand-tinted photographs. Suddenly, through an unlikely and fleeting break in the gray shroud, a brilliant beam raced over the hillside like a seachlight from an alien world--across the pasture, up the ridge, and down the valley south.

At once an explosion of color and sense of depth! The full spectrum of reds, yellows, oranges, and maroon flared to full intensity and richness. And then as quickly with the ray's passing, the full palette faded again to sepia and dun, blurred and muted as if this year's forest were already a mere memory.