We like to go for Sunday afternoon walks, and autumn in Vermont is about as good as it gets. And, yes, the trail at Texas Falls in the Green Mountain National Forest fared better through Irene than it did during the flood of 2008, no matter what the current “road closed” sign says.

Fall in the woods: where the dominant visual of the season is that of decay, even though we all know it’s Nature’s time for sowing seeds and spreading the promise of new life.

The trail was flanked by the broken skeletons of fallen birches, embellished by lacy roots, and crisscrossed by a trickling brooklet.

The sound had multiple layers. The near sound was that of crisp, dry leaves underfoot. The intermediate sound was a murder of crows in the treetops. The distant sound was the rush of a far-off waterfall. When the leaves are half-way off the trees the sounds carry farther, bringing everything closer to the listener. All the sounds came in together- even while the forest seemed more expansive.

The smell was the rich, russet scent of dead leaves and the pungent beginnings of fungi.

The feeling was amazing. This is what carries me through winter.

The rest of the images are on flickr.