The red sash of the sumac
Having moved to Brooklyn from Cambridge, Massachusetts, ten years ago, one of the things I miss is the brilliant autumn foliage—the subject of Thoreau’s essay “Autumnal Tints,” and of many passages in his Journal.
The fall colors in New York are mostly yellow, russet, and brown, but there are a few sugar maples that turn scarlet and orange, and it’s possible to find a few other plants that add a touch of intense color. This week at the High Line park the leaves of the sumac were turning red, the birch leaves were yellow, and honeybees and bumblebees were gathering nectar from dense beds of purple asters.
The sumacs were also glowing red near the lake in Prospect Park, reminding me of a passage that Damion Searls has included in his new edition of Thoreau’s Journal.
The clear bright-scarlet leaves of the smooth sumach in many places are curled and drooping, hanging straight down, so as to make a funereal impression, reminding me of a red sash and a soldier’s funeral. They impress me quite as black crape similarly arranged, the bloody plants.
