The fall is the perfect time to talk about light as an element of design in the landscape. How, when and where the sun shines, dramatically influences the visual impact of any landscape or garden. October light in Michigan is cold and low in the sky. Uneven or carved surfaces are cast in sharp relief. Any shadows cast will be dramatically elongated. A client choosing a smooth surfaced ornament for their garden should be happy for a subtle light rendering; if not, choosing ornament with some more graphic surface variation might be in order.
I could write on into the next decade about how light is the engine that gets any outdoor space moving. One of my favorite parts of my Michigan gardening life is how the light can make the appearance of everything change, from hour to hour, and day to day, and season to season. The contrast of light and dark in a garden is its heartbeat. In October, the trees coloring up are all the more dramatic for the ignition supplied by that intensely pale light. Its worth thinking about the degree of shade a tree or shrub will cast in a landscape. A densely shady area is all the more dramatic with a pocket pool of light behind it. Plan for dark spaces close to your view, with light spaces in the distance.
The spring leaves emerging on my Princeton gold maples cannot hold a candle to their yellow fall fire. I am a photographer whose lack of understanding about the mechanics of photography is considerable. So I watch the light. When it suffuses every element in a garden such that the color in my pictures, or the feeling of my pictures, will be saturated-that is the time I photograph. I record; I do not have the skills to generate. It is hard to believe this collection of these maple yellow leaves produces such dense shade underneath; the grey cedar fence appears black by way of contrast, and almost disappears.
Our thin rod steel spheres permit the view of your choice through to the landscape. How they interact with a garden is the best part about them. Imagine this view in the winter, the early spring, the early summer, the high summer, the fall; you get the idea. Add light to the mix, and your possible visual combinations increase considerably. Garden ornament interests me greatly, given how it offers me a sense of solidity, and steadfast longevity, against the ever changing landscape.
The bright flat October sun sets all it touches on fire. The greens are all that much more electrically green; the reds glow red. If you are looking to see the rhythm established by the masses of light and dark in your landscape, look quick now before the leaves fall. There is instruction coming from the natural world every day, should you care to tune in.
The color of these pansies speaks softly in the spring. The fall light intensifies and electrifies the appearance of their color. On my best days, I think about how the light will fall on a landscape in every season, as this should influence how I place every plant or object.
No annual or perennial in my garden has color quite like this. It interests me that at the moment the color of the leaves of this Boston ivy flares brightly, the leaves are also beginning to decompose. Life and death inextricably intertwined. Though my idea of hell places me in a history of philosophy classroom, I have no problem walking outside, and observing what is going on. 
Those brightly cold moments in October forecast the dormant season on the way. The light is bluish; it throws everything silhouetted against it black. The soft grey of the bark of my lindens reads flat black in the fall. It’s the quality of the light transforming a landscape you thought you knew, into something you have not seen before.
This cabbage leaf shed from its plant is plastered on the concrete in a fall rain. The cool light records the dropping of the leaves; it takes you and I to wake up and see it. The smooth green stem gone a grief stricken pale grey reads graphically against the wet dark pavement. This is a different version of October light.
This last stage of the flowers of my hydrangeas, bathed in October light-so beautiful. Maybe more beautiful than the height of their bloom. They look so dignified, as they gracefully dry, quietly accepting the closing of the season. The October light makes an operatic production of this process, does it not? I would encourage you-see the light.
He spot lit certain elements in the room- the refreshment tables in the middle of the space for the sake of utility, and ornament on the walls, for drama. What he lights is balanced by what he keeps dim. He strongly lit the auricula theatres on the wall, so his forest stick and light orb sculptures would not throw them into harsh shadow.
Simple votive candles can put light right where you need it. In this case, lighting the garden at the floor plane also lit the underside of our old French fountain planted with ferns. Natural candle light instantly romances anything it touches. 
Some of Rob’s light garlands get another decorative element. Light cords are are an incredibly unnatural shade of green; I cannot understand why an olive/brown color is not an option. We do buy lights with brown cords for wrapping sticks or tree trunks. This garland has a weatherproof ball garland that gives the light a diaphanous quality. This is my idea of good garden jewelry. 
Large light fixtures on the wall of the shop subtly light the Boston ivy vines on the opposing wall; the intense light in the pots, and on the tuteurs bring the ornament into focus. 
The chartruese lights repeat the color of the moss, and add dimension to the light. The light emphasizes the sparkle and sass of the holiday elements.
This is Rob’s winter berried vine light garland. The olive plastic holiday balls wired on every so often add texture and color that looks great even during the day.
The linden is draped in his light rendition of spanish moss. The unseasonably warm weather we have had for the past few weeks has been favorable for outdoor installations. In years when the really cold weather comes early, this kind of work can be daunting. With the temperature at 57 today, it is a perfect day to dress a garden in light.
These commercial grade light strings have frosted bulbs; they produce a very soft light that is easy on the eye. 
Though the ball garland in this strand is silver, the color of the terra cotta pot in which they are installed makes a richly colored night presentation vastly different than the day look. 
I am sure I own the most fabulous French antique fountain on American soil-take a look; do you not agree? I detailed some time ago the process by which this incredibly beautiful piece came to me-but it is not the subject of this post. As beautiful as it is, a fountain, any fountain, is a means by which to introduce and integrate water as a decorative element in the landscape. I do such injustice to use the word decorative; what water does for a landscape is give and sustain life. What water does for a gardener borders on the sublime.
In my early years designing, I never went near any suggestion of a fountain, pond, pool, or lotus pot. I did believe anything of any importance in a garden sprang from the earth, and grew. Arranging for delightful water for a client was just over my head, and beyond my capability. It is the sorry truth that a lot of things I thought early on about landscape design proved to be provincial, ill-informed, and shallow. Thank heavens the normal course of events is to grow up into something. My age and history is a good thing. At some point I figured out that fountains were not the sole province of public parks and libraries; any home garden is all the better for water in some form. This English iron fountain I placed a few years ago-I never tire of the look of this water in motion, the peaceful sound of it. 
This very regal cast iron fountain is of American manufacture, mid 19th century. This part alone enchants me. Placing an American garden ornament of historical significance in an American garden was a good moment. It looks even better when the water is moving over its surface. Note the planting of creeping jenny around-water splash comes with the territory when water drops a long way. Plan for plants that like this regular shower when water is being pumped to great height. 
No matter any history, or construction issues, water beautifully representing in the air is available to any gardener. This small English iron version of a classical tiered fountain has a lead basin just 5 feet in diameter. This fountain is installation friendly; take it home, set it up, and plug it in. Three things are at issue in putting together a fountain. You need a means by which the water gets airborn. This could be a decorative piece like this one, any pot or sculpture which can be modified to convey water. A copper spout works fine. You need a pump of sufficient power, and the electricity to run that pump.
These gorgeous glazed ceramic jars have been outfitted by the manufacturer brilliantly-meaning, thoughtfully. The jar, a water reservoir , and a pump make it possible to take this complete water feature home, place it in a great spot, plug it in, and learn firsthand about what water in the air can do for a garden. The water moves so slowly that it cannot break the surface tension of the jar surface. No splash means you might consider bringing it indoors for the winter.
My 26 foot long by 4 foot wide fountain-a gift from my Mom. It so irritated her that I never took any time off work-she made an issue of this, when she was alive. What she left me enabled me to build this fountain. I hear the sound of it when I get out of my car at the end of the day. I get in it, to cool off, and scale back. I go and sit in its company every day. I am on vacation-at home. Some days I just look at all that watery motion from the deck. I can hear it when I get in bed. The action of the water in my garden-better than very good. 
Water once meant no more than a good drink for my plants. From the looks of this, it should be easy to see how fountain water can make a garden a better place to be. 
