Fells Reservation, Massachusetts
It is November. The Autumn has passed her peak. Slowly treading towards the Winter. Rustling sounds. The Time of Low Sun. And glowing leaves. Brownish weaves. Cascading shadows... Softly scattered light. Edging along. Bouncing off. Passing through. Picking colors on the way. And splashing them over... The Time I sense the Light... being a part of this world.