The intensity of color here astounds me. Astonishes me. Saturates me.
I am in Dudhope Park, looking down “the hill”, across The Blackness and past the Tay. At least this preposterous hill provides spectacular views.
I have always felt that this is what fall should be like. I am sitting on a park bench, surrounded by the greenest grass in existence. Stick an emerald in a light socket and lick it, inconceivable green. I am wearing a scarlet sweater to protect against the slightly chilly breeze. A tree behind me has burst fully into fiery oranges and reds, unaware (perhaps uncaring) that its breathren have barely a tinge of color on their outmost finery.
A gentleman, young, with chiseled calves, just jogged past uphill, panting, looking distressed. I felt like applauding but restrained myself until he passed to do so.
The sky, too, is unbelievably rich in color. Things this blue do not exist in nature for easy comparison. it is a pop of the deepest blue topaz you have ever seen. The clouds, countoured in slate and blue, grey and pink, roll across the sky and out to see.
It is like stepping into a jewelry box, or an oil painting. Like someone has turned the saturation way up on a television.
The first fallen leaves skitter by on the wind as the sinking sun drenches the lawn behind me in light. The grass actually sparkles.
I have grown cold, sitting here. I’d best get going before I freeze. Plus, I need to pick up goat cheese for dinner.