It's a sunny day at last and the season for jumping in the car and exploring the country lanes, trying to find that elusive, perfect tree. No tourist coaches here in Western New York - they're all crawling around the New England villages, getting stuck in traffic jams of leaf peepers. They really don't know what they're missing.
It's the sugar maples that have that vivid, red
colour. Our neighbours will be making maple syrup early in the new year, hoping for bright days and cold nights.
Dried corns stalks guard the old barn like soldiers.
Yet another tapestry hill. They are everywhere, competing with each other and we just take them for granted.
On Golden Hill, a narrow country lane I'd never been up before, the road turned into a muddy track at the top. The best trees will always be just around the corner.
Or a little too far away.
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