These days are the peak of our season. All the colors-- yellows from butter, blonde, and gold, to the flames of the sun; oranges from bronze to pumpkin to copper (old and new); reds are pinky strawberry to crimson, tomato, burgundy and blood. And all their crinkly faded remains scattered on the ground. When you're in the right place on a sunny afternoon the whole world appears on fire. It's a psychedelic send off before winter with its bare tree skeletons, gray winds and icy stars swoops down upon us and reminds us what really makes New Englanders.
Our fall is the antithesis of the cherry blossoms. No delicate pale to cherry pink blossoms flutter away to reveal the season of lush new green and warm breezes. We flash out in a riot of vibrancy before the dearth of color lets ours really show through.