What do those words create in your mind?
A cacophony of colour branching out from each and every bough? A mountain encircled in glorious hues of red? A rich, azure sky awaiting the next dark storm cloud?
All is true. But it is also so much more.
It is not merely an explosion of colour – that is to oversimplify the grandness of the scene. It is a gentle sway from tint to tint. It is a canter through a multitude of hues. This is what surrounds the grand finale. That expected explosion of colour.
The dance of a soft crimson sunrise on powdery snow, like a spotlight on a stage.
The flutter of red – a thousand fiery dancers – flying above one of the world’s most beautiful backdrops.
Indescribable brilliance of light cascading through a golden canopy. Distinguishing darkness from every nook, cranny and knotted bough. It is another stage…
… And on its floor a gentle waltz through colour takes place as leaves, long since past their regal red turn to other, perhaps more noble, shades.
And still the dance continues as you step beyond the forest’s bark-border. Here, the dance is harsher; stronger; a staccato from golden yellow to a cerulean sky.
And in that sky, eagles dare to join the dance. A dance no longer just of colour.
It is a high-spirited affair as summer passes into winter. A short window of frivolity, a richness, not just of colour but of life. The last scurry before winter wraps its icy fingers across the lakes and up through mountains.
As the day threatens to fade from view the sun demands the last dance and throws colour across the sky with wild abandon. A free-style. A sky where rich oranges of a soon-to-set sun struggle to find partners in the blue; amongst the clouds.
So as light finally sets on this grand autumnal stage the dance ends. And yet it doesn’t.