Ruska paints an ever-changing symphony

Yesterday it was green, today yellow, soon it will fade to brown. The summer of the trees is falling to the ground. Take a damp leaf in your hand, you will see the cool beauty.

August is summer. September evenings are hearty. I can't wait to let go. Let's get to October.

The cobblestones of Maantie Road leading to the railway station in Riihimäki clatter, the piles of leaves rustle, you might hear the hustle and bustle of the past and the footsteps of glassworkers. Or are the craftsmen of the future stepping up their studies there? Hyria, Helia – Stadia, Hamk.

I sit on a bench, listening. The rose shakes its dark red, the scythe waves at the mouse.

A girl busy with yard work has her rake rattling rhythmically.

August is gone. As far away as May Day is from the beach heat of July. What a leap!

The sun's rays peek from afar

Ashes are bubbling from the coals of the campfire. I make coffee at the Hirvijärvi lean-to, I continue my journey to the shore of Paalijärvi. The daisies and the white anemones, bare, contemplate April. I climb into the freshness and the breeze, the bird tower opens up to autumn and the beaches. Grasses and horsetails in the colors of the earth. A waterfowl still takes to its wings, being accompanied by its fellow species.

I walk on the shore. I listen to autumn. A flock of great tits rushes into a tree. Clumsy spiders crackle and pop from their bark hiding places.

Then it happens. The sun comes out. My fingers test the swimming water, my toes still paw the grass, my cheeks surrendering to the sunspots.

The doors are open.

Latch, latch. The water is cold.

On a Sunday in October, I enjoy my warm wool socks. Yellow, orange, red leaves.

On my way past the outdoor swimming pool, I see that it is sleeping. Waiting for summer and happy swimmers.

To the Harpo Glass Museum, wild wines are painting the walls, dripping with red. I spooned salmon soup to the last drop. From the card racks at the Hunting Museum, I selected greetings for friends and aunts, I'll write the first one right now. Gift ideas are piling up for the godchild, nice.

Guests enter their cars from the Lehmustie party hall with smiles. The branches of the small willows await winter. The lilacs and honeysuckle are bulging with buds.

The robin is chirping. The place is reserved!

Usual autumn weather, refreshing

The usual autumn weather was promised for the afternoon. Wonderful! The streams and ditches are babbling. The rain is filling the potholes. The birch leaves are on their way to the sea.

In the forest clearing in Launos, the summer light has grown the copper and brass of meadowsweet. The loose tufts sway in the breeze. The sand box seedlings are left to wait out the winter.

On the ridge, lingonberries pop red against the dark green leaves. The largest berries dangle along the ant trail.

The tender, crimson-red leaves of the bog-side juniper tremble when you look at them. A couple of blue berries, dried treats, for Christmas.

The crowberries shine black, some of the juice has seeped into the soil. A shriveled, dried-up leaf falls on its side.

It's warm. The mosses have a whole palette of colors. Autumn is a celebration and full of unexpected twists and turns. A symphony of the senses is playing.

 

Photos and text, Johanna Heikkilä FM

The author enjoys nature, is enthusiastic about everything, and always wants to go on a trip.