Low late autumn light floods the landscape and transforms and changes the balance . . . .

. . even cast shadows become extras on the stage and part of the metamorphosis..

Forms of plants reemerge – just standing naked  – but still adorned with jewelry  . . .

. .  humble fruit trees so full of character . . . .

. .  supported, just, or expertly trained in some cases.

Even suburban cotoneaster becomes a thing of beauty. And the grasses, well . . . . ornamental . . .

. .  and dipsascus showing nature in roughness and beauty.

I think Rilke might have liked this subtle changing vision and ‘transparency’.

Before you can count to ten

everything changes: the wind flicks

clarity out of even

the high thistle stalks

and flings it in my face,

so close it can’t be seen.

A precipice

on a border mountain

gives more certain footing

than this spot where

long grass displaces itself

overnight,      in wind, in rain,

lies down under the clear air

as if stroked

by the hand

which made it up. Jo Shapcott (after Rilke)   Caety Traylow

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