Most of the leaves have fallen by now, although there are still some hanging on. The oaks and beeches, as they always do, cling to their leaves more than others. They will be dropping dried leaves all winter, the wind rattling them until they drop. This means I can see more where foliage obscured the view during summer. Things are brighter.
Walking in the woods, the sun shines through. A shaded path in summer becomes a somewhat shaded path on a sunny October day. Instead of the shadows of leaves, only shadows of branches reach the ground. It is lit more, has a different character. In addition, the fallen leaves brighten the forest floor. The light that now shines through reflects off the yellow and brown. There is more light from above and from below.
I am wowed every fall by how much more I can see. Where the path was bordered by green, by tangles of vines and ferns and goldenrod and jewel weed, it now spreads out. I can see the contour of the land, the boulders just below the trail, the top of the great pine that fell in the lightning storm. I feel smaller because the world looks so much bigger, and I feel bigger because I am so much more a part of the landscape, moving among the woods and not just through them.
The vista on Mount Philo changes every day and I am there often enough to see it. The clouds move in and move out. The trees leaf out and then are bare. Lake Champlain is rippled with wind or still. The sun sets behind the Adirondacks or they are illuminated by the sun rising in the east. Now, all of the journey to that vista has changed. While autumn puts the world to sleep, I get to see it glow for now, before snow transforms it yet again.
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