Autumn in New England is a grand thing.
The cold nights drive the bugs back to the depths of the hienus hell bogs from whence they came.
That in itself, would be reason to celebrate but as an added bonus (or just nature’s apology for the summer’s unreasonable humidity,) the mountains and valleys transform into living stained glass.
Thousands of words have been composed, typed and published in an effort to describe the beauty of a fall forest.
It is etherial. A living church window.
I feel this inescapable need to capture some bit of the breathtaking display and make a little piece of it mine.
Even the lakes are not immune to the compulsion.
Though it is quite possible, they just happened to be there.
Everyday on my drive I think; “I should take a picture of (insert name for special tree here) soon. Tomorrow maybe…”
“It’s not ready yet.” Then, the wind takes half of it away and I think, “I should have done it yesterday.”
Even when you pick the perfect day for that particular tree, there is no way to capture the magnificence of a backwoods autumn in anything less than itself.
However, I lack the good sense to stop trying.
The leaves don’t give off light, they make the most of the light they are given. More like tie dye mercury, than flame.
A sunny day turns this:
Autumn glory! Simple leafs, elevating the landscape for a brief time before falling to the ground. Where they will wait for the snow.
Such a beautiful daily reminder of the impermanence of everything except change. Buddha would approve.