The days are too short. The woods are too brown, and dead. Winter is coming, the sky is going to fall.
We set out Wednesday to find color and early winter ghosts.
They exist, rich yellows, greens, blues and browns. Things are so much quieter these days, but somehow the silence is watchful, aware.
A full yellow moon rose on my golden birthday. A buck crossed my path and let me follow him through a grove of trees. My favorite people in the world sang to me, and I sat on a dock in a frozen marsh with some of the best creatures I've met in the world. The moon had a ring that encompassed the whole sky, and ice alligators cut paths through the cattails.
I couldn't ask for anything more.