Silent wet earth beneath dry and papery leaf quilts, woven and stitched by summer, and a new story begins. Fall to me always feels like a time of resting, a pause, a completion, but also a preparation for the next chapter.
In southwestern Florida it is a quiet story, bathed in cooler breezes and high-weather clouds. The sky a different blue, more hints of violet than the turquoise of summer.
Many shades of brown beneath my feet crumble as I step; my nose flares with the rich earthy fragrance of decomposition. Flashes of green against the deeply corrugated oak bark: a sturdy vine, thick as my thumb, grips with tiny tendrils to climb the sunlit canopy. Virginia creeper -- this summer it has not been creeping, but steadily pacing itself, suddenly five more feet of leafy vines cover walls and tree trunks.
The fruits of summer will continue as the marlberries ripen and new acorns continue to drop. The wild coffee and Simpson stopper berries did not last long, but I think there may be some wild grapes out there. These are all I have to offer, but I like to think that it’s enough of a way-station among the unsafe harbors.
Chittering background birds. A mockingbird flips a tail and scolds. Anoles skitter and skate through damp leaves. A quiet time, but still full with the sounds of life. There is alchemy brewing as summer sighs, and autumn whispers new secrets.
Media:
Canson All-media sketchbook, 90 lb. paper
Mechanical pencil and Micron Pigma black artist pen 01
Mission Gold watercolors
