The view from under my favorite double birches was still a bit green a couple of Saturdays ago.

Only a hint of yellow touched the leaves while the surrounding maples burned orange and red. Fallen leaves dotted the spruce and fir limbs below like Christmas ornaments.

It was one of those days with an ominous sky and occasional hints of crisp blue. The sunshine darting in and out heightened the stark contrast between the slate-gray clouds and the flaming trees.

Autum is anything but subtle.

For much of the year, trees are unobtrusive. In winter, their bare branches are cold and lonely. Sure, there are those icy mornings in February when they glow like crystals in the sun. And there’s that first blush of spring green that has everyone sighing with relief, but after that they’re just green. OK, sometimes they blossom, but they’re still mostly green.

Then one day the temperature drops and the green is gone in a blaze of glory.

The brightest flame is the maple. I can picture one of my favorites this time of year. It sits a few miles from my home, its scarlet branches arcing gracefully out from the massive trunk. Underneath there’s just enough head space for a picnic spot or a reading nook. I could live under this old tree, watching the days go by in the rosy glow filtering through that spectacular canopy.

At home, we have a slew of younger maples that produce a symphony of lush reds and burnished oranges. But they are not what most folk think of as THE maple. They aren’t sugar maples, with the fancy wood grain and lucrative sap; they’re red maples.

Red maples are called that because the tree has this penchant for red. No, it’s not the one with the burgundy leaves all summer long. It, in fact, looks much like a sugar maple, except for that red thing.

For me, red maples are the harbinger of spring. Forget your robins and look to a red maple. It is one of the first trees to sport color of any kind after the winter snows. Each branch is crowded with clusters of flower buds – red, of course – that swell as the days grow warmer.

For summer red, you just have to look at its twigs and leafstalks, which have a tendency to blush.

Then comes fall.

All of the red maples at my home have some form of scarlet in their autumn finery. The reds have the sheen of dark red velvet, while the oranges are flecked with bits of red. One tree, planted by my brother a couple of decades ago, can’t make up its mind: Several branches turn bright red, while the rest is orange with the tiniest hint of red around the edges.

Red maples, which also are called swamp maples because they prefer moist soils including that of swamps, can reach an impressive 90 feet tall at maturity, with trunk diameters of more than 2 feet.

Their bark tends to be smooth when young, but starts to fissure with age. Decades ago, an extract from the bark was used by pioneers to make ink and two shades of dye, black and cinnamon brown.

Today, the red maple’s best use is that of shade tree. The one on my front lawn shelters a glider, a ring of white violets and a vigorous clump of hosta from the summer sun. It was strong enough to come mostly unscathed from the Ice Storm of ’98, and even the heavy snowfall earlier this month had little effect, other than making the branches look looser.

Planting a tree can be a big decision. We’ve never planted many in my yard – most just volunteered – and whenever we did, it was like buying a new couch. Granted, with a sapling, it’s a miniature couch, but sooner or later it will be full-sized with the sofa bed pulled out.

There are smaller alternatives that pack a similar punch.

One of my recent acquisitions is Enkianthus campanulatus, or redvein enkianthus. I had no idea when I planted this shrub a few years ago that it would be such a delight in autumn. Every year, the colors seem to change and this year is no exception. A few strokes of yellow blend into a brilliant orange that in turn starts to burn scarlet, all in shades rivaling those of my red maples. An added bonus is that around June, redvein enkianthus drips with dozens of little cream-white flower bells edged with red.

I have decided that I need to add one more bush for fall color. Euonymus alatus, better known as burning bush, can give any garden an extra dimension. I’ve admired these shrubs for years but never thought to buy one until I had to take down a small pine after the snowstorm earlier this month. The spot outside my gardening shed looks perfect for a bush that vibrant. Its fiery shade will bring a splash of color to an area of the back yard that doesn’t have a red maple.

Not yet anyway.

Janine Pineo is a NEWS copy editor.