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September may have marked the start of autumn, but I feel that the season doesn’t truly take hold until the first few days of October. By then, a subtle change is underway, with the first touch of gold in the trees. By mid-month, this change gathers pace. Mist hangs more frequently over Loch Sunart in the mornings, the evenings fall more quickly into darkness and suddenly, the woodlands ignite with hues of red, orange, and yellow. The image below, titled “An Autumn Peace”, was captured then, when the trees along the River Shiel blazed in full autumn finery. Their colours, enriched by the low sun’s warm glow, created an all-too-fleeting moment of splendour. This was autumn at its height. Something to be savoured before winter’s approach stripped the trees bare once more. Scenes like this make me eagerly anticipate the arrival of autumn, my own and many other landscape photographers’ favourite season. It arrives gently here on the Peninsula, never abrupt, never clamouring for attention. It slips in almost unnoticed at first, with cooler nights and mornings that carry a sharper edge.
It is the light itself that defines autumn here. The harsh glare of summer is gone, replaced by something softer and more searching. Morning mist drifts across the loch, clinging to the hills and hollows. When the sun breaks through, its beams pierce the thinning canopy, falling in golden shafts upon the woodland floor. By evening, skies blush with rose and amber, their richness heightened by their brevity before darkness settles swiftly in. These shortened days lend the season its mood: reflective, quiet, a time to turn inward as the earth itself eases into slower rhythms. A walk through these woodlands in October is to witness constant change. Leaves loosen and fall, carpeting the ground in shades of ochre and crimson. Footsteps stir their crisp rustling, a sound that belongs only to this season. Streams run briskly after autumn rains, their chatter carrying through the stillness. Birdsong grows faint, giving way to the echoing roar of stags as the rut begins, their voices carrying hauntingly through dawn and dusk. By late October, the landscape is at its richest. The woodlands flare in crimson and gold, the hillsides glow with warm amber light, and the lochs reflect skies that change quickly between calm and storm. To photograph the Peninsula at such a time is an absolute joy. It’s as if nature has unveiled a vast, fleeting painting, a painting whose colours are sharpened by their brevity. Soon enough, leaves will fall, branches will stand bare, and autumn will surrender to winter. Yet for a brief time, autumn holds the Peninsula in its gentle embrace, and it is this fleeting nature that makes the season so special. It reminds me that beauty often lies in transition, in the moment between fullness and decline. In the woodlands, with their play of light and colour, the lesson is clear: pause, breathe, and cherish the fleeting splendour of change. In its stillness, we find peace, “An Autumn Peace.”
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