Love, if you will, the brassy, offhand blue summer skies. However, the heavens’ fulsom, mature-but-ethereal beauty is best experienced in the throbbing, blue skies of October.
A search reveals hundreds of fall-themed literature, most of which extoll the undeniable beauty or the symbolic falling of fall foliage: its brief time run out, its fall to earth where it suffers the moldy fate of all that has ever existed on the planet.
A similar search reveals multiple meteorological reasons for this bluest seasonal sky; even the gray death of leaves from the season’s blowtorch decorator enhances the autumn skies’ blue.
On the earth below, as the yellows, pinks and weak blue blossoms fail, starry New England asters, ripe hanging grapes and lethal blue-purple monkshood replicate, bear the skies to our earth-bound vision.
However, the October sky is also the most mutable: tornadic black one minute, blown to white billows the next. Gray and lowering at one glance, rent by blue at the next.
Eternal perfection isn’t the nature of life’s beauty.
