November 1, 2016
The fourth week of change in our little valley. I’m a little late posting, as this was taken Tuesday, a little later in the day than previously shown, as evidenced by the interesting tree shadows in the foreground. The rusty trees on the edge of the woods are American beech. The oaks and poplars on the ridge and slope are intensifying. This is the where the last rays of the sun touch before the light disappears, causing it to glow with golden light.
More rain today, we’ll see what happens over the next week as we transition into dormancy.
Previous views:
October 11, 2016
October 18, 2016
October 26, 2016
Once milkweed pods (Asclepias species) dry and start to split open, collect the seeds and sow them directly where you want them to grow, covering them lightly with loose soil. They need a cold period in order to germinate, so winter will take care of that requirement for you. They’ll germinate at the right time next spring.
And for those following my 
My orange Blenko vase was just the thing to hold an arrangement featuring all the hues of autumn, starting with orange and yellow calendula (C. officinalis).
Small wands of wild goldenrod (Solidago sp.), picked from an area that was mowed in August, managed to bloom despite the setback.
Yellowed lady fern fronds (Athyrium filix-femina) were a must and vertical touches were provided by fountain grass (Pennisetum alopecuroides).
Thanks to Cathy at 
As I head out on my walk through our woods and along our little river, the air is soft and warm, a perfect Indian Summer day in the upper 60sF (20C). A few soft clouds drift in a Wedgewood blue sky. There is a light breeze and occasional gusts tug at the orange and yellow leaves that lift and swirl, a golden rain of parting. Cherry tree leaves, all shed but the last ones that cling to the terminal end of every branch, flutter like golden pennants at a joust.
Backlit by the sun, blueberry leaves are carmine splashes against a gray and brown background.
As I reach the river and settle into an Andirondack chair that gives me a view up and downriver, I see a goldfinch cross the sky in its undulating flight, twittering with each swoop. Turkey vultures ride high upon thermals, executing lazy circles as they drift on the warm breeze.
Stalks of dried Joe-Pye weed, leaves a dark, chocolate-brown, rustle stiffly in the wind. Topped by clouds of soft-gray, fluffy seeds, they await a gust to carry them airborne to new horizons.
Lining the banks, rust and gold knotweed reflect in the rippled pools, along with shimmering patches of blue sky and wiggly, dark lines of locust tree trunks. Flames of sumac rise here and there above taupe-colored knotweed seed heads, a frothy sea recently frosted, its rampant growth arrested. I follow the repeated chipping of a brilliantly plumed male cardinal as he sails past and disappears into the thicket.
Crows caw and scold constantly, annoyed at the migrant, swirling vultures and the occasional hawk, which always elicits a battle cry and chase. This past week, flocks of Canada geese heralded their arrival at dusk to the cornfields across the hollow, skimming low over the house, poised with feet out, like planes with gear down for landing, ready to alight.
The air is pungent, redolent of spice and earthy decay. The landscape pauses at peak and moves on, heading towards dormancy. Maple, birch, cherry and ash have shed their raiment, pulled down by the wind. Oaks are coming on in russet and gold. Sycamores turn a yellow-tinged, rusty-brown; its coarse leaves rustle and litter the ground like discarded paper plates after a street fair. The colors of late autumn, after the flashy maples have passed, are subtler. They do not shout loudly, but quietly await recognition and appreciation. They are the wallflowers at the dance, yet they possess their own virtues.
Leave the human world behind
I’m joining Robin at 
Eliza Waters 