No Purple Mountains Majesty

It's the second day in a row that I thought of that phrase, "Purple mountains majesty." How magnificent are mountains of purple and deep tones of blue. How entrancing are orchards fat with oranges, spotted with clumps of yellow lime green bananas, fields of red geraniums, and waving wheat of gold.

But fields and orchards aren't always so rich in color.

My husband and I recently drove down to Ashkelon over Route 35. There were fields all around - a dull green and dull shades of tan. Mid-season of anything is a little dull - be it the mid-season of theatrical run, a TV series or a field where everything's been picked and nothing's been planted yet.

As I looked out the window, I felt like I should turn up the contrast and the saturation on the world outside my car window.

My husband reminded me that the last time we had driven on that road, the fields had made a tapestry of vivid color. His words gave me something to look forward to.

Then suddenly, after Kiryat Gat and before Machane Pelugot, there was an arch of trees on the road. It only lasted for a minute's drive, but it was lovely, like a whoosh of beauty, just what we needed to add a little spice to the bland nature of early fall.

Looking forward to the colors changing and the ground a deep brown as it soaks up the rain that we are all praying for.