It is this time of year, the end of October, when I dream of autumn fading away and the first snows of winter arriving. I was born in mid-October, and my mother says she went into labor with me on a warm, sunny autumnal day and came home in a blizzard. I always remember this story, and as a kid loved seeing bright autumn leaves and berries still on the trees and bushes breaking through a fresh layer of snow. Weather like this was always a birthday present from Mother Nature!
Covered bridges spanning creeks are still in existence in various bits of the east coast. I imagine they were welcome resting spots for those on horseback or in open carts or wagons, out of the wind and snow or rain. For me, they are part of my own nostalgia for “the good old days” – and really lovely bits of historical architecture.
It has been a long time since I have witnessed the autumns and winters of hardwood woodlands. They always linger as some of the most beautiful memories. The mid-west and eastern states of New York north are where I want to be this time of year. But, where I live, in sunny SoCal, this is not the case, even though the Sierras have much to offer this time of year. And, admittedly, I am glad I don’t have to deal with chains and mukluks and woolies and long johns. I will admire the change of seasons from afar, more so in my dotage.
Watercolor, unknown watercolor paper with poor sizing, 11×14.