orange

This is the colour of fall. It is the colour of a bountiful harvest; the colour of the sun as it dips behind the fields from which you gather your harvest, the sky above it still brilliant blue. It is the colour of transitions. Have you ever seen a sunset like this? The colours - so contrasting, so opposite - blended into a seamless gradient. They are perfect complements. You are unable to look everywhere at once, so instead you focus on the smouldering orb that finds the horizon line, dragging the last dredges of light along with it. Stars begin to twinkle dimly in the ink, but you are still warm.

It is pulling a tray out of the oven, and peering at your autumnal vegetables roasting. The colours are as unnatural as they are vibrant. They look like pieces of candy, and they taste like candy, too, but these plants are no different from the grass you walk upon or the trees that shade you. These ones were made special for your tastebuds, though, and your tastebuds will never object to the sweetness of carotene. The vegetables must be baked for a long time to release their sugars, and you know they are done when you see brown bubbles broiling on their surface, mixing with the cinnamon and nutmeg. It is the sound of metal scraping ceramic as you dig into your harvest with fervour, the steaming vegetables burning your tongue and lips - the direct result of your impatience. Your senses are satisfied, and you know your mouth will soon heal.

It is citrus. It is pulling three circular fruits out of your bag, and peeling them with utmost care to remove the white coating, the unpleasant bitterness a detriment to your sweet snack. Your fingers will smell of citrus for at least a day no matter how much you wash them, but is that the worst scent to be stuck with? It is handing the smile wedge to a friend, and watching their face light up before they shove the snack into their mouth as if they have not eaten in days. It is wholesome, and you want to give them more and more slices, but then you only have two left for yourself. You have learned a lesson: always bring more than one, because these fruits call to be shared. As you share, you marvel at the way the fruit is naturally divided into slices, as if the earth created this fruit to be shared with you.

This colour makes you warm inside. It is a friendly colour. It reminds you of softer, gentler times. It is naivety and childhood bliss, like walking home from the corner store with loose change in your back pocket and a chocolate bar in your hands. Thanksgiving turns into Halloween. The bushel and cornucopias turn into pumpkins and candy corn. Fall is in full bloom. Your years of living in this weather has taught you about layers: a sweater with a button-up shirt underneath; a skirt with thick socks; platform boots and wool hats. If you do it right, your body will stay at the perfect temperature, and you will walk in circles for hours and hours just to get a taste of that crisp, clean air.

It is the colour of dying trees. Funny, how the death of leaves as the trees preserve themselves for the winter is such a spectacular sight. Driving along the strips of highways in rural provinces is where you will feel this colour. This tin metal car you sit in and the sliver of asphalt you ride upon are the only things that separate you from the surrounding wilderness. And even though the land is senescing, you find beauty in the death and decay as you walk across the forest floor, now blanketed by leaves. It smells damp and dewey. It is the reminder that everything falls, dies, decomposes; the reminder that everything will ultimately return to the fabric of the planet.

When you realize not everyone gets to experience this colour the way that you do, you feel special. Wintering trees is a Canadian experience, but it is certainly not the world's experience. You think about how lucky you are to see nature in its most vulnerable state, watching it tear itself down, reduce itself to shreds, survive the storm, just to return to its former glory. You get to live the whole process through this one colour. You get to transition with the trees, join them in death and rebirth. There are many ways to see this colour, but the way you get to see it is unique.

Perhaps this is nature’s preemptive apology for the season that is to follow.