I wander in the forests, swamps and marshes, finding myself inspired by the autumnal light and organic scent in the air.

They pull me into the verge…

It’s the time of “the verge”, when the seasons collide in the wake of the equinox and anticipate the unruly winds of change. A moment of stillness before the Earth shifts, relinquishes, and embraces.

In the hush of a great threshold, Nature holds its breath and a leaf settles in the arms of a cedar root…

There I was, eyes and ears-all senses-wide, taking in Nature’s gifts of the verge. The rustling leaves in a cool wind. The musky smell of swamp water and the sweet rot of vegetation. The lazy gurgle of shallow creeks around smooth rocks. The halting shrill of a Blue Jay.

On one walk, a giant toad—the biggest I’d ever seen!—waddled across my path. I think it was an American toad, mottled and rough with warts. He looked rather grumpy and took his time, somehow confident—or not caring—that I could step on him and squish him easily. He was rather jiggly as he lumbered on. I did not take his picture; I don’t think he wanted me to, so I didn’t.

Soon after, a small garter snake slithered across my path, less confident of my steps. It froze once it was safely out of my way. Good snake…

The forest is alive with the domestic chaos of wildlife busy with itself. Chipmunks chug and squirrels scold from the treetops. Surely not at me! I climb out of the lowland of old-growth hemlock-beech swamp forest to the top of a drumlin of maple-hop hornbeam-ash forest and then descend again into the dark hemlocks and pines.

The colours of sugar and red maple blaze in the canopy above, frothy clouds of bright orange, red, yellow and everything in-between under a deep blue sky. I wander, camera in hand, and find treasures everywhere—from blue fungi to tiny bright red maple leaves freshly fallen.

I have a silly habit of picking up leaves and pressing them when I get home; my books are repositories of colourful prizes from years past.

In the marsh, I encounter a green frog, sitting in the mud. It decides to pose for my camera. And I obligingly take its picture. My new best friend.

No, I did not take him home; I left him there, lollying in the mud, looking very content.
For all I know he’s still there, presiding over the autumn verge…