Growing up in A small New Jersey town on the edge of the suburban and rural parts of the state I found the Fall to be my favorite time of year. The colors in the Northeast are like nowhere else I’ve ever been. Spattered out across the hillsides and meadows as if some mad artist spilled all the burning colors from his pallet across a massive canvas in bas relief; the clash of cooler air and the warm fiery panorama conjure thoughts of pumpkins and apples, Thanksgiving and All Hallows’.
I spent a lot of time in the woods as a youth, especially in the Autumn. Hunting, three wheeling, camping and hiking throughout the forest behind my home. Exploring the ruins of old structures reclaimed by the decades, looking for old bottles and plates left by the former inhabitants. Hunting for the mythical graveyard which was said to be in the woods somewhere but hidden by time and which I never did find.
Late September and into October the Earth would begin to change. You could feel it in the air, the brisk cool autumn, smells of smoke from chimneys dormant through the summer. Leaves would begin to fade from green and fall from their branches. The sound of wind rattling the tributary branches of trees swaying amidst a rain of confetti leaves swirling in a vortex or rolling like a wave down the forest path. All eventually to find their place on the forest floor and await the snows of winter.