If I could paint, this is the type of image I would paint. I particularly appreciate the limited palette of a foggy November morning. With the cacophony of October color past, November affords us the opportunity to concentrate on composition and form.
The penultimate month gets a bad rap as dead and ugly. It’s neither. It’s a time of preparation, readying the bed for the long winter’s nap. Nature is telling us to slow down, and be more reflective. Wal-Mart disagrees. Perhaps our issue isn’t with November, but with corporate America’s attempt to defy it.
Think of fall in New England and the deep reds and oranges of the maples come to mind, but a week after what the weathermen call peak foliage is when the real magic happens. The white pines drop their needles, and the beeches and birches begin to turn yellow and copper.
The more subtle palette doesn’t attract the leaf peepers en masse. They don’t know what they’re missing. Bright sun sneaking through the canopy after a rain brings out the best in the conservation land behind our property. The stream pictured is fed by an underground spring.