Inspiration

The first line of William Shakespeare's Sonnet 73 came to mind today as I froze in time these aging golden leaves and silver strands of spider silk.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereupon it must expire, 
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

(I've included an extra photo of Lake Padden that offers a much wider view and cooler colors.)

Blip 1886