yellow leaves

Found it impossible to do justice to this copse of gingko in Prospect Park, the camera sadly compressed everthing, shrunk the spaciousness in the depth created by the light and shadows and sadly diminished the elegant gradiant of green to yellow on the grass below the trees. You had to be there. You have to go there. It's in the Southwest.

Have you been there? Have you been in one of those night scenes that occur lately on streets lined with locust or linden, when, on account of the bright yellow leaves glowing against the night sky, you enter an infrared world? It turns you upside down, rolls you over, breathes it's yellow light into the world, makes every leaf your story of renewel.