Is there anything more perfect than a walk in a New England wood in the fall?
In the quiet of a crisp Sunday morning, under blue skies we walk beneath trees of gold, bronze and copper. Old stone walls, fungi on the trees and rocks, a running stream and nuts and leaves crunching under foot fuel the senses. Autumn is too short and too rich a tapestry to not go deep into the woods and be a part of it.
New England in the fall - there is no where else I would rather be.