Dusk in the dell

Last night my mother asked me if I wanted to go out painting with her, as it would be good for me to get some fresh air. I expressed an inclination to do so, so she packed her paints and I my trusty book. We set off, stopping by the store for ammunition (cashews for her, pistachios for me, dark chocolate kisses for both of us), and drove 10 minutes to our destination: a magnificent cow pasture. There are rolling hills with blankets of trees and soft grasses draped over them, and a small river roiling its way over rocks and waterfalls and around little islands with hardy little sycamores wetting their feet in the foam. I was intending to stay in the car and read, but when I saw the beauty of the descending dusk, nothing could have made me stay in the car.

I grabbed a big coat and my mother's camera and fortified my pockets with chocolate for warmth. I ran down the hill into the meadow, disregarding both the cow pies and my aching lungs. I looked around rapturously at the landscape, and I greedily breathed the spicy cold air colored with a hint of frost. I wandered around taking pictures till darkness came, happily ignoring my freezing face and hands. The woods were dark except for the pale shining limbs of the sycamores and the glowing red of the last-turning oaks. Everything was tinged a slight reddish gold; the sun had just set. I couldn't portray that on film, and it took me about 10 takes to get a decent picture of anything on account of the fading light.

It was actually a lot lighter out than this picture portrays, but you know how fussy cameras are. The cows were grazing quietly on the hillside, slowly wending their way back home for the night.

A beautiful little trail... you can't see the depth and faery-like quality of it here.

Branch lace in the sky.

The trees were reaching their arms towards the last glimmers of sunlight.


A little old man-tree caught my hair in his gnarled fingers, and when I turned around in fright, he smiled benignly at me as if to say, "I mean you no harm, my dear!".
The leaves curled themselves up to protect themselves from the cold wind.

I wish you could see the warmth of the colors, but I just couldn't capture it.


The last nightshade berries glowed in the dull grass, and reminded me of the time I used to pick them and pretend they were little tomatoes (though I never ate them of course; they are quite poisonous).
I simply could not get the water into focus. I took about 30 pictures of the stream, but this is the clearest of the lot.



I'm including this for fun. The cows who live on these acres do not know how lucky they are to have such a wonderful place to roam.


My mother painting. She wears an old blue coverall for warmth; I can't remember her ever painting in the winter without it. At her feet is our beloved watch dog (I should say one of our beloved dogs, for we have two). She has a good intimidating bark, but nothing in the world will make her bite someone. She has never growled in her life.


Don't you wish you had gone with me?