A moment in paradise

 This picture taken on Molas Pass, just north of Durango on September 29 this year: the aspen were peaking at the highest elevations (where they have surely shed their leaves by now), but today--October 14 we are still a week or so from peak fall color in Denver. There has been fall color for a month in part of our state, and should go on (hence the "so far" above) another month or so--most oaks and pears and mountain ash all wait till November for their full glory.

 I published a post on October 24 of last year "Autumnus miraculosus" praising what seemed to be an off the charts fall for us. This year is (if anything) even lovelier--the aspen have glowed for almost a month and the green ashes and many poplars in Denver are already bright butter and banana shades, not to mention the fulminating purples of Fraxinus americana and screaming scarlet Acer x freemanii: both perhaps ill-advisedly overplanted the last few decades.

Denver's weather occasionally lulls one into a sense of euphoria--spectacular falls that rival New England's only with bright sunny weather every day, and gradually chilling nights--perfect for planting things and for doing most anything under the sun. That is, if you can forget Putin and the Ukraine crisis, if you can ignore the vast throngs of the homeless across America (not to mention homelands in South Africa) and somehow shut out the noise of television and radio (I have no problem doing that), and the other petty annoyances and problems life sends our way, you can almost feel as though you are in a kind of Nirvana.

It's 5:41 on a Friday morning: I'm cuccooned on my recliner (reclining) with a warm blanket (we keep the house coolish 68F) and listening to Handel's Concerto Grossi Op. 6, no's 9-12 looking forward to a very busy day: starting with a breakfast (yoghurt and sliced musk melon) and a few warm cups of tea, the sun will gradually rise as I catch up on emails and I get ready (shower, dress) get to work by ninish when my dear friend Keith Funk will meet up with me (he's bringing me a paw paw he grew for me to plant) and then I am meeting a group of retirees to visit led by Carol Cushman, another old friend (naturalist and author) whom I've known most of my life and not seen in years. I will spend an hour or two showing them around Denver Botanic Gardens on what promises to be a luminous autumn day (high of 76F). Then I will conduct a live/Zoom meeting in an unfamiliar office space at 1:30 (worries me a tad--but an IT professional will be nearby to perhaps help if I have a problem), and I will dash off at 2:30 to be at home by 3:00pm: sometime between 3-5:00pm a contractor is coming to check for lead by our garage door that I've paid to have replaced...maybe it will actually happen soon?

Tonight Jan and I shall make Boureki (Cretan zucchini/cheese/potato pie with phyllo) and Spanakopita for a dinner party Saturday night for dear friends who were married while we were in Africa, and who'll be joined by 3 special colleagues for a belated celebration. 

The weekend beckons mightily--I have great hopes (I know will be dashed: I always plan more than I can do) that I'll finish planting everything I want to, weed the garden, clean the last of the hundreds of kinds of seed I've collected to send to the NARGS exchange. I hope I might drop in on a friend who promised to dig a spectacular iris for me I've yearned for--perhaps on my way back from Boulder Sunday where I'll visit my daughter and brother-in-law....this last is a secret (they don't know I'm planning that)...

Then Monday I have four days vacation: a drive to Santa Fe and Rye to help Jan winterize her family home--hopefully with scrub oak in full fall color and of course the poplars blazing "school bus yellow" as my -ex wife used to describe them (and probably still does).

In the background if I strain I can almost hear Putin grinding his teeth and some homeless people scuffling--far in the background--and of course by son hasn't called me in several months, I have some accounting I can't seem to get to and there's this pesky election on the horizon. And winter and first frost are already overdue.

My first cup of tea has brewed, the Concerto is in a sweet slow movement. No sign of the sun yet--only just past six AM. Let's pretend everything is perfect for a while longer please!