It never comes all at once. Photos of autumn color in the landscape, and the memories of autumn’s glories we keep in our minds, typically capture the peak of the season. This is only one phase of autumn, however, a fraction amounting to a few days. There are weeks before that when the color is subtle at first and shows only here and there, gradually building to a climax, and then weeks after it when the color begins to fade and leaves begin to drop, as the trees are slowly stripped down to their naked branches. That’s all autumn — every bit of it.

Those first touches of color are striking to see, standing out stark against the green-cloaked landscape. They are a wake up call. The startling splashes of color begin to multiply, spreading like fire from those first few sparks until the fields and forests are totally ablaze. Then people flock to the Parkway overlooks to snap their photographs and rate the foliar performance, critically evaluating the level of color as compared to previous years.

And after the peak, as the nighttime temperatures grow colder, the reds, oranges, yellows and golds slip subtly to more somber shades, still lovely but no longer glowing. Over the course of a couple more weeks the color palette shifts into various tones of brown and tan. The wind blows and the leaves let go, falling like shredded paper down to the earth. Now the trees are bare, the fine articulation of their branching becoming a haze of gray glimpsed between the dark shafts of trunks stretching imploringly to the sky. The wind grows chill and rakes through the trees, stirring the fallen leaves in dryly whispering circles.

Autumn is a process. The natural world is closing shop on summer and readying itself for winter business, and for a moment there is a crescendo of colorful brilliance in the transformation. That moment is only a moment, though, and the process is much bigger than that and always moves on. Autumn has a job to do, and takes us where it must.

Garden Autumn