Bottom of Lake Pepin – October 3, 2012
Fall coats the bluffs, soaking them in copper, gold, and rusted-red leaves. The colors rise out of the green-brown water and hang under a blue sky, vivid and bright as spilled paint.
Close to shore, every red-flecked leaf, every bit of yellow, is distinct, like single, delicate strokes of a fine-tipped brush. They only smear together as I slide away to the next canvas, the next bluff rising above the river.
I want to stop, to lay underneath each tree and stare at the light shimmering through the canopy, to watch each leaf come undone and spiral to the earth.
But the artist is fickle and fast, beautiful but impermanent.
The paint peels and breaks away as it dries. I can see it at the edges, in the skeletons of trees waiting for winter. So I move, move after the wet paint, move like I’m chasing a slow sunset that’s disappearing over the horizon.