Mt. Lemmon’s fall colors become artificial near the fenceline
By the time you reach the fenceline, where the last maples lean against the fence and the ground tilts toward Tucson, the color has gone plastic— a red too red, a yellow borrowed from a gas station sign.
The trees remember what’s expected of them, how the tourists need their postcard.
A kid poses for her mother’s phone, and the mountain obliges, spilling out one last bit of October for the algorithm.
You stand by the fence— the smell of sap and exhaust mingling and think of the men who built the road you drove up on.
Their sweat staining the stone still, their laughter lost somewhere between true color and paint.
The wind tries to speak again, but no one listens.
The leaves keep shining in their counterfeit glory, each one a small rebellion already fading.
Fall In The Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
“Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.”
Fall Colors Along Sabino Creek Hiking to Hutch’s Pool — Panorama by kenne
One of my favorite hikes is to Hutch’s Pool. In the past, the Sabino Canyon Volunteer Naturalists (SCVN) would guide a fall and spring hike, each hike having a many as 15 hikers. However, like so many things, not this fall because of the pandemic. The trail is open, but not for groups.
— kenne
* * * * *
I bear many scars,
but I also carry with me moments
that would not have happened
if I had not dared
to go beyond my limits.
— Paulo Coelho
Crossing Sabino Creek Below Hutch’s Pool — Image by kenne
Cabin In The Woods (Mt. Lemmon) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
I wish I could escape to that cabin in the woods, Where the trees have a face like no other. And those trees play songs, with the breeze sweeping through their branches. I wish I could hear their songs. Not just hear, but to actively listen Because they fill their chords with notes of love. I want their tunes to brush my ear and their leaves to gently cover me from above. The leaves that don’t crunch or wither or die. The leaves are full of ever-increasing life. When the fallen leaves have touched my skin Chills cover my flesh and shoot me with a sensation. I have been touched by this gracious life.
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
Fall Colors Along Sabino Creek in Winter (January 2020) — Image by kenne
