I have always been a little disappointed in myself for not being quite so in love with Autumnal colours as the rest of the British population. (I think I may even have feigned rapture in the past to save face). Regrettably, I’m just not much into the golden – rusty – russety part of the spectrum – it’s all just a bit too mellow for me.
But this year the change of season feels different. As the days draw in, I have become increasingly aware of the light, the crispness that is particular to a bright Autumn day. I am noticing detail, realizing the way the low grazing angle of the sun makes the outlines of things sharper, the lines cleaner, casts the textures of Autumn into precise relief. I register the way colours leap brilliantly in and out of the shadow as the sun moves across the sky and I remember in a very visceral way the part light has to play in making up our perception of colour.
So instead of focussing earnestly on the subtle variations of gold, orange, red and brown, I’m looking at the light, finding colours I didn’t know belonged to Autumn – pinks and blues – and I’m relishing the contrasts, the textures, the playful dashes of ochre, emerald and lime green, scarlet… against brown, grey, sky blue… These for me are like the gift of a bright day against the backdrop of muddy, grey, rainy Autumn weeks.
The pink berries? My first encounter with a Vilmorin’s Rowan.