Some of the trees in their autumn grandeur take your breath away with their beauty. I remember trying to describe it to my mother, how amazing it was to stand, our first October, beneath the yellow leaves of the sycamore maples next to our first house in America, and be encompassed by their golden light, it was almost magical. I remember going out to look for the boys, and being enchanted for a few minutes under their spell. I tried taking a few photographs, thinking that would demonstrate better to her how it was, but they did not capture the experience at all.
So what is it that makes them so beautiful? Some of them have this rosy blush, like the cheeks of a young girl. I drive along smiling at all this radiance, knowing I am in the presence of beauty but unable to explain how it works.
I love to understand why it all happens, the chemicals which produce the amazing colours, like anthocyanin and carotenoids, the need for deciduous trees to rest through the cold winter in order to grow, the self-protective nature of a tree whose leaves all fall off, so that they tree does not get weighed down by snow, and various other theories as to why deciduous trees lose their leaves.
But to try to explain why it is beautiful is beyond me. Perhaps it has to do with the transient nature of the colours, perhaps all beauty is that, transient, like the beauty of youth, or even, of old age.
I was changing after a swim, in the women's changing room at the "Y" one day, when some of the old ladies who do aqua-aerobics came in to put on their swimsuits. They call themselves "The Wet Hens" which is a wonderful name, and swear by the aqua-aerobics, that it keeps them fit and going strong. One old lady changed right next to me and was not shy at all, she just moved carefully and in the slow manner of very old people, took off all her clothes, then cautiously pulled on her swimsuit. I couldn't help looking at her as she struck up a conversation with me, and it turned out she was Russian, and 83 years old. I tried not to stare but so desperately wanted to draw her, as I found her, in all her aged fragility, extremely beautiful. You could still see her high cheekbones and the vivacious light in her dark-blue eyes, and everywhere skin hanging off her old bones, like wrinkled paper.
I ran 3.25 miles (5.23 km) today in 42 minutes, which is 8.01 minutes per km, which is over the 8 minute mark. Well, just, so not so bad. The running becomes easier after the mid-mark, when all the joints are oiled, the muscles warmed, the lungs in rhythm, the head knowing the end is approaching.
I think it is going to be cold tomorrow, as the birds were frantically filling up at the feeder today. I glanced out of the upstairs window to see a red-bellied woodpecker using his tail as leverage to hang on to the perch which is built for much smaller birds, and peck away at the food in a hurried manner. Blue jays balanced in the trees like little pieces of sky, and my favourite little nuthatches hurtled about in their quick flitting flight from branch to feeder, beeping softly and steadily, what sounds like "Vite, vite!". which is "Hurry, hurry!" in French.
I am so tired from not sleeping properly, having so many hot flushes that if they could make electricity from them I could probably power our entire house for the winter season! I snuggle down into the bed next to Tim, get nice and warm, and then - Oh my god! I'm dying of heat! Throw off all the blankets! Ah, that's better........... Oh my god! It's freezing! reach out for covers, pull everything up and over again, snuggle up to Tim, get nice and warm, and............ Oh god! I'm dying of heat! .... And this goes on all night long! It's like having a tiny baby again, only not as much fun. Hey-ho, the joys of menopause!
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