Yesterday I found myself sitting under a yellow tree. It's high autumn and this tiny tree, no more than fifteen feet high, trunk no thicker than a soda can, just an upright branch, was ablaze. As a small child, my bedroom was painted bright yellow but that color was dull, muted in retrospect. I've never before seen such a vibrant hue. It drew the eye from a block away, this radiant, electric, platonic yellow. Yellow had been, to my mind, a wimpy color but it is not so anylonger.
In the next few days, of course, the shade will darken, the leaves will fall to the ground and by this time next week that tree will be little more than a denuded twig but today, today it practically burned they eyes with its intensity. The neighboring trees with leaves of umber and vermilion must surely have been a jealous as trees can be.
More than the color of the tree though, I marvel at my own fascination. Why is it that we notice some things so distinctly on certain days when most of the world passes beneath our notice?