Most of the deciduous trees out there have yellow leaves. I've often wondered if the reason for this is that most of the trees out here are species of shallow rooted trees. Yellow though we may be, there is a huge variety of yellows. Each tree species is just a wee bit different, in the same way that every leaf has tiny variations of colour. There is rich gold, there is pale soft gold, there is gold so gold you'd like to take it to the bank.
The real fall colour here in the west comes from the underbrush. Our underbrush has all the glory. The sarsaparilla goes a particular shade of soft red gold. The wild roses, oh my the rosebushes turn cardinal red, and the rose hips lay a ripe orange before it. The fireweed stands in flames against the sea of golden grasses. The ivy that I have been trying to get rid of for years seduces me once again, with its burgundy sangria.
I surprised someone the other day by wearing red. Up till now they had only seem me in blues and greens. My heart lies with red, pure reds and every red in between. When I was a kid, my dad sometimes coloured with me, and he always said red was swell. He was teasing and messing with my mind, but red became my favourite colour.
It comes to mind that I have only 2 reds in the deep yarn archives. I'd wonder how I am going to fix that but I work in a yarn store. I can't think of anywhere better to solve my little problem.
If I was a really good blogger, I'd have pictures of all these reds, but the pictures remain to be taken. That's the plan for the weekend.