Late Autumn Wanderings

   I am at a crossroads, with each way seemingly blurred in its potential contents. To know would require one to choose blindly and move on, to traverse the fog fully and without apprehension.

Sun illuminating the morning fog while en route

  On a late autumn morning I am once again called to ride to the forest, to attain the perspective that cannot be had sitting in a warm room, and that which is so easily forgotten. To clear the fog at the crossroads, if only momentarily, and mine out what remains of a compass inside.

Passing through the Wolfswood, a beautiful link between two neighborhoods

 Swiftly passing pines and oaks, poplars and hickories, muffled by the sea of leaves wet from the misty morning, I’ve come seeking answers to questions I cannot articulate. I never find them, a part of me knows I won’t, but I’ve yet to return home without something of substance.

Autumn, just a tad earlier

   I’ve now spent ample time along these paths and forest roads, wandered amongst the brooks and streams, seeing the foliage grow and die and grow again. As death’s procession reaches its zenith once more, I’m grateful for the time I’ve spent here, and all it’s given in return. 

On our last leaf as wiñter approaches. A nice place to rest, think, or make coffee

   In a culture on the hunt for meaning, most would do well to discover what often awaits them in their own backyard.