I can refuse my beloved Sigyn nothing, so here we are again, crunch, crunch, crunch, enjoying the little bit of fall color and drifting leaves that the thirtieth parallel affords.
The Virginia creeper seems to be trying to outdo all the other vines.
If it doesn’t feel like being red, sometimes it will opt for copper.
And if that doesn’t do it, there’s always the gradient effect.
About the only color it doesn’t do is lemon yellow. Good thing the little passionflower has that nailed down.
The trees and shrubs are vying for attention, too. Winged elm can’t seem to decide if it wants to be yellow or orange.
This one has settled on burnt orange,
which should be illegal in a town in which everything is required by law to be Aggie Maroon, but whatever.
Farkleberry is adhering to the maroon law as best it can. There are usually some maroon leaves in with the red ones.
(This year the fruits have hung on much longer than normal. Where were the birds that were supposed to have eaten them up over the summer?)
Shining Sumac can be counted on for a consistent, bright red.
SIgyn would be just as happy if everything were this color. I keep trying to explain that if everything were red, nothing would stand out and she’d grow tired of it quickly. She says that might be true but it would be “fun to try it out for a few days.”
The willows down by the mostly-dry-creek have gone enthusiastically yellow.
That photo doesn’t really do them justice.
The hickory, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be trying AT ALL.
Sigyn is trying to comfort it, assuring her that it is loved and valued for its sturdy wood and squirrel-treat nuts and that it is beautiful in its own way. My love, how can you appreciate any fall color with your rose-colored-glasses affixed so firmly to your lovely face?
The Bushy Bluestem has also opted for brown this year.
What it lacks in glamor it makes up in poofiness.
Where foliage fails, the fruit can sometimes be counted on to supply the color deficit. Beautyberry is always happy to provide that color that defies classification.
I don’t know what it looks like on your phone/computer/tablet, etc., but to my eyeballs, it’s a very, very obnoxious fuchsiamagentapurplepink not found anywhere else in nature except a rare species of sea slug that inhabits the waters off of Borneo.
(I made that last bit up. Might be true. Might not. Can’t be arsed to check.)
Greenbriar has luscious-looking fruit.
And let us not have that tiresome argument about whether black is a color or not. This isn’t optics, this is botany, and anyone who has played with the berries, pulling out their rubbery-snot innards to see how far they’ll stretch, can vouch for just how dyed their fingers are for the next day or so. It’s color. Case closed.
Well, this has been a lot of walking and a good deal of dangling and poking. Sigyn, see if you can find us a soft, pretty place to rest before we make the long trip back home.
Is she the best, or what?
Ha! I was right!