The photo is overexposed as usual, or the image would make you weep for the gift of eyes. There are layers upon layers of mountains going into the distance, all invisible in the Canon haze. It’s been beautiful up here, though it is autumn: cold, windy, damp, raw, the smell of rot in the air and the end of everything in your eyes. The mice are besieging the cabin, looking for food and warmth, and I’ve been sitting in front of the stove, book on my lap, trying to put some weight back on after a week of near-fasting.
The next eleven days will be the glory of autumn, and then the winds will come and strip the maples of their leaves. Carpe vitam.
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