Autumn’s Golden Thrall

I have been living in a yellow world, an endless brilliant yellow world. From the first explosion of a million Aspens, gilding the mountains, to the fiercer, luminous yellow of the sprawling Cottonwoods I have been held in a golden thrall. The sky, the distance, the glistening yellow light: dust rising up to join it, smoke from cabin fires lost instantly amongst it. The giant Cottonwoods at the Vineyard have all but shed their gorgeous leaves to densely carpet the ground, the last expression of their fall defiance, their last display before the browner drab of winter.

The Apricot trees have finally followed suit, their leaves a humbler yellow but equally defiant in retaining their color. I drove the West fork of the Dolores in September through what I can only describe as a corridor of yellow light. Acres of Aspens, flowing blocks of Aspens, even lone aspens, yellow lollipops amongst the shadowy spruce and pine. Somehow their isolation made us smile. Dark blue couches in the Vineyard Garden are still replete with yellow leaves, "should I brush them off, or let the visitors to the Tasting Room register the end of fall’s extraordinary display?”