Nearly halfway through November, it is a strange time of year here. Most traces of autumn have faded, but winter has not yet arrived. Last night it dipped into the mid thirties, flirting with frost. So I spend spare time enjoying the final vestiges of the season, each day seeing more sky through the skeletons of bare limbs.
As I walked in my woods this evening just before sunset, the valley fell into shadow. I saw sun still shining on the trees up on the ridge and walked up there since was a delicate radiant light.
A web of arching branches from this beech tree was catching the glow of the setting sun. The leaves that were so brilliantly golden just days ago are now mostly brown, but they soaked up a trace of orange as the sun dipped toward a distant horizon. The fading day etched its light onto the edges of branches and leaves. And I paused to etch a memory of this fading season to carry through winter.