Slant Light

It's always surprising, in the fall, when the light comes in under the canopy. It illuminates particular trees to advantage, particular thickets of green briar. I was up, well before dawn, reading at my desk. And watched as the light overcame the dark, the play of shadow. Yesterday's rain had cleaned all the leaves, so all the surfaces were bright, and the colors were intense, the sumac, the maple, the yellow poplars are spectacular right now; woodpeckers, and three old crows the color of oil on water. I need to store the color, bank it away against the inevitable black and white of winter. The smells too, something today was on the breeze and I never could find the source, slightly sweet and green. A late breakfast, or an early dinner, of potatoes and eggs and toast, I do love butter and jam. I'd prepared a couple of reflecting devices, bottle-caps covered in foil, with a hole in the middle for mounting, and when I saw a strong shaft of light hitting a tree I went out and attached one. Sure enough, for a couple of days I should get a strong signal. Not quite Bach nor Morse Code, but at least a flashing in the trees. It all moves so quickly, the angle, the inclination; you factor all those things in, bodies moving in space, the speeds involved. Working empirically for several mornings, I go out and reposition the reflectors for the next sunrise. I position the reflectors, with shims and a 4 penny finish-nail, to shine on the side of the house where I read and write. Some mornings I get it almost correct, the reflections dimming as the sun rises, dying downward. What happens, that angle of incidence changes so quickly. This morning the witching hour centered on eight o'clock, excellent visual effects. Later, over a mug of coffee, I think about it as an installation. Reject the idea of reproducing the effect, with lasers or whatever, so it would need to be filmed. TR could do a soundtrack. It would be an hour long. There might be a squirrel. Because I have to tag this thought, I start thinking of it as Morning Early Light (MEL, in my mental shorthand), so I can separate those thoughts from the raft of data. The acorns are falling like small bombs, you need a hard-hat to walk in the woods. I think that should be part of the soundtrack, the acorns falling. A flock of turkeys today was flocking the underbrush for acorns, also the deer and the mature jays that seem to hold nuts in the pouches of their cheeks. It's a big day for birds, the first skeins of honkers heading south, a red-tail hawk that just seemed to be flying around, several different woodpeckers, not a bad day by half. I made a hoecake, fried polenta actually, about half-way between a pancake and country bread, and had it with maple syrup. It was so good it made me lose my train of thought. That something so simple could remind you of so much. Corn pone and jelly-roll. I love it, free-range.