As I look out my windows in recent days, I've seen the landscape change color in its inexorable movement towards winter. There's some deep reddish-brown in the beech trees and yellow in the tamaracks, but soon all will be dun-colored, the grayish brown of winter, made exciting again by the contrast with fallen snow.
Against this dulling landscape, the color of dried grasses becomes vibrant. The pale brownish-yellow of the brittle leaves and stems glistens even under the day's gloomy skies. When I see the five foot tall seed heads against the sky, I can't help but think of the Great Plains, where the original tall grass prairies stretched for hundreds of miles, and were taller than a man on horseback, a sight both stark and fecund, and overpowering.
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