THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, October 16, 1995 TAG: 9510140052
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: Medium: 60 lines
OCTOBER HAS ENTERED my home literally - with the slanting ray of morning sun telescoping through an open window, planting a rectangle of vivid yellow on the white carpet, like an Impressionist painting.
And in other ways, too. A few days ago I brought home a potted chrysanthemum. The plant sits on my kitchen counter where the fragrance of coffee sifts through its green leaves before breakfast. The small blooms bristle with gold buttons - enough for a dozen blue blazers.
And in the refrigerator a plastic container filled with scuppernong grapes of a dusky gold that seems symbolic of the season, each as spotted as an old man's hand.
The hand of old October itself is prodigal, transforming creeks into liquid serpents of gold slithering past mud banks spiked with marsh grass as they wind toward the bay. Clusters of goldenrod bending toward the sand give the illusion of Midas fountains.
Much of the month's artistry is simply breathtaking. In the early morning, when the strands of a spider web are moist with dew, the fragile architecture sparkles like a Tiffany creation.
And in the evening, bay waves leave wet sand as they recede, which the setting sun transforms into a mile-long mirror of gold at the water's edge - reflecting clouds and sea gulls in its shimmering radiance.
It is a good time of year for night walks. Sometimes Mabel and I go out late, walking the beach beside Chesapeake Bay where the lights of tall hotels and condominium buildings twinkle like gems in the distance. All of the buildings seem to shimmer in the clear, cool October night, the sweep of beach from the Lynnhaven River eastward all aglow, curving toward Cape Henry like a magical Xanadu.
On moonlit nights, when the moon is full, cottages lurking behind dunes cast long and ghostly shadows behind the sea oats. And when the wind is up, whitecaps seethe across the silvered surface of rustling water like the long beards of beards of biblical prophets.
By day the golden-haired dog keeps watch from her usual perch at the top corner of a sofa, staring through the window at October. She waits for the dreaded and much-feared and far-too-clever neighborhood cat, who taunts her by slowly parading past our window, tail erect. But in October there are other things to see. Ducks quacking their way toward the bay, only a few feet above the eaves.
Yesterday, she was focused on the edge of Pleasure House Lake, across the street, staring at a tree on the bank. In the tree was a curious object resembling a fat loaf of French bread covered with white sugar. Mabel stared at it so hard, I was about to go to the bedroom for binoculars. But it suddenly raised its head. A white egret with its back facing us. Mabel turned to look at me. ``See, I knew it was a bird,'' she seemed to say.
Before long the sharp tooth of winter will dent our spirits. But not now.
Not with October's bounty of apples, pumpkins, and golden flowers, around us. Truly, the best month of all around here. by CNB