Fall is encroaching on us quickly here in the Bay State. After our backpacking trip in the Pemi Wilderness, we’ve passed two busy weeks in the city - time on service for me, a weekend on-call, and a ramp-up in Jane’s work responsibilities as well. I’m fortunate that I have the three-block walk between home and hospital to be outdoors and enjoy my surroundings, or else the season might come and go in a flash. This year’s early autumn has been marked by a procession of colors along Longwood Avenue - the windblown piles of fragrant golden honeylocust leaves, the tall maple erupting in color behind the Winsor School’s athletics field, morning dew hiding the growing blush of the berry bush beside the Temple Israel, and the ragged brown oaks lining the banks of the parched Muddy River, shedding their crumpled leaves onto the bridge I cross on my commute. It’s all fuel for the spirit: after a few months away from the act, I’m back to writing poetry again. The air is clean and crisp. My favorite season is here, and it’s time to go exploring and photographing.
This Saturday, we take a westward trip to Worcester County, to photograph the Old Stone Church beside Wachusett Reservoir. We join a few other early morning photographers on the road bridge across the reservoir; the foliage is not quite at peak yet, but the maples beside the church are turning vibrant shades of amber and crimson, and make for a nice subject against the pink clouds of sunrise. As the sun comes up behind us and casts its light across the water, I turn away from the church to photograph the mixed forest on the opposite bank, where the harvest moon is setting for another year. A northern loon surfaces from its dive somewhere beneath the bridge, its lonely song echoing across the reservoir. Even with the road traffic behind us, it’s a lovely scene to start the weekend.
After walking around the shoreline and playing with maple leaves, Jane and I stop in the nearby Country Kettle Diner for a hot cup of coffee and and a stack of pancakes. The day is still young, so we make the short drive around the east end of the reservoir, past its dam, to the little hamlet of Berlin with its apple orchards. Here, after circumambulating the orchard’s stone fence and stopping to photograph a beautiful, massive red oak, we pick a basketful of crispy green Mutsu apples and purchase a bag full of cider donuts before returning to the city.
