The swamp turns purple on the threshold of winter. In autumn it flushes russet, but as winter approaches the colours change. If I remember rightly, Van Gogh saw shadows as purple. We are now entering that time of year when the shadows lengthen, sculpting the landscape and highlighting every bush and tree.
I saw purple shadows and purple light on my walk yesterday.
Between the bach and the beach, young pohutukawas are everywhere making their presence felt, raising their bushy heads. They are growing because of the vision of one man, who raised hundreds of seedlings many years ago, and organised his students to help plant them, In another ten years they will provide welcome shade along the track to the beach.
For now, their rounded forms in the purple haze, seem mysterious: part of the magic that happens when the light changes and familiar things take on new significance.