The autumn days are nearing their end. Nights are colder. Even though this coming week is one last promise of warmer weather, we know it can’t last. The RV park is emptying out. It’s soon time to go home.
The last of the evening sun’s rays add a sweet pink tinge to the rare scattering of clouds in the eastern sky. I’ve been watching for clouds, desperately hoping for a few drops of rain to end weeks of sweltering heat and parching drought.
I turn to the southwest. The glow of sunset touches clumps of cloud and wisps of smoke that have drifted into the valley from faraway wildfires.
I turn a few more degrees to the west and I’m left wondering if this is a sunset or another of those raging wildfires I’ve seen too much of on the television news. But yes, it is the sunset, searing us for a few more moments before allowing us to recover from yet another day of being barbecued.
We’ve been promised rain for today, but somehow, I don’t think it’s going to happen. The clouds that have moved in are way too high and way too thin. Just a hint of hope for relief someday, but probably not today.
Please remind me of this whining post a few months from now when I complain about the relentless wind and rain.
Early in the morning, the sun’s first rays hit the top of the hills and one lonely leftover cloud. I’ve learned keep the camera handy and to drop everything when the light is right. Sure enough, less than a minute later, the light changed and the magic was gone.
Yesterday the sun came out from behind the clouds for a little while. Its rays seemed to spotlight the willow tree in my neighbours’ yard. In the early spring it begins to get buds that signal that winter is (or should be) over.
I had to get a close up of these pussywillows. They are so representative of spring. I felt a hopeful anticipation of warmer days to come.
The Captain and I had to make a trip up island the other day. It would be a long day so we took a picnic lunch and stopped by the roadside on the way home. Where we parked, several picnic benches were available but there was a chance our rear ends could freeze to the bench, so we stayed in the car where it was cozy. We had a fantastic view, sunshine, and the warmth of the car while we had our sandwiches and V-8 juice.
This was the view looking north towards Campbell River, on Vancouver Island. You can see the south end of town on the left, and in the distance you can see the snow-covered Coast Range which is on the BC mainland.
Looking straight ahead from the comfort of our car, this was the view we had while we ate our lunch. These mountains are also part of the Coast Range, on the BC mainland.
The waters were calm and the sun was shining, but it was hard to find a warm spot. Who knew that sunshine could be so cold?
The colours of fall are amazing. As we drove through Montana on our way back to the coast, the brown hills near Missoula impressed us with their brilliant deciduous growth in the valley bottoms.
Even before learning the name of the huge trees with almost black bark, I have loved the look of the black cottonwoods. In Montana’s ever-present breeze the leaves whisper soothingly. It does the soul good just to stand quietly under one of these trees, close your eyes and listen.
I don’t know what the red shrubs are that don’t mind getting their feet wet in the creeks and rivers, but I saw the same shrubs growing in the small waterways of southern British Columbia as we drove home. If I were a painter, I wouldn’t hesitate to set up my easel here.Or here! I love the white bark on the trees below. Are they birch? Poplar? I don’t know, but they’re beautiful.
Notice how yellow and brown the grass is. It’s usually fairly dry here.
Now see how green the grass is in the photo below. We are on the coast and the wet weather reminds us that we’re nearly home. That tree floating in the bay is a Douglas fir that was washed away from the banks of the river and has floated all the way into the estuary. It was a very tall tree, although it may be hard to tell from the photo. I later saw this same tree in a video clip someone posted to the weather network.
Just a couple more miles to home. We’ve driven past flooded fields and a cresting river. So glad we live on high ground.
It looks like a comet, but it’s not. It looks like a splotch on the truck window or the camera lens, but it’s not. As I drove past, I had to admit that the thing that might have been a sun with a halo,… wasn’t …
unless there are two suns. Maybe it’s a mini rainbow on the edge of a cloud?