Not that I wish the summer over by any means. It's just that fall is my favorite time of year here in the Pacific Northwest. The various maples are in the dressing room, changing coats from green to yellows, oranges, reds. The spiders have grown round in recent weeks, and hang in their webs like grapes at harvest time, full of sugar and ready to pop. We're relishing the last of the late-bearing fruit harvest as intensely as we did the early sets. But it's the change of light that speaks first, and loudest - though the entry is usually soft. Sometime in early September, the heat-washed, pale intensity of summer light just up and left, leaving no competition for the deep, warm shadowed hues of Autumn.
This is the light that means the most to grasses. At least for the favors it shows them, I would assume. Many species still hold flower stalks ripe with seed for next year's production - or proliferation, whatever the mode of existence. And it's this richly buttered light that, when draped among the stalks, affects a captivating glow. Here, the flower stalks of 'Karl Foerster' Feather Reed Grass, in such a light.
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