Category: Canyons, Gorges, Ravines

White House Ruin

In 2003 and 2008, the author visited and photographed White House Ruin in Canyon de Chelly, observing changes in landscape.

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In November 2003, my son Sean and I journeyed up Route 191 from Petrified Forest National Park, arriving in Chinle on a crisp autumn afternoon. My photography equipment at the time was modest: a Sony Point and Shoot 5 MP camera with filters, a purse-like over-the-shoulder bag, and a basic tripod from Kmart.

We reached the White House trailhead in Canyon de Chelly and began our hike. The trail was quiet, and as the sun set at 5:20 pm, we found ourselves virtually alone. A dense growth of Russian Olive trees dominated the wash at that time. In the dimming light, I captured a distant shot of the White House Ruin, whitewashed, set against the backdrop of autumn-hued Russian Olive foliage. Nearby, a grove of Cottonwoods, still green, stood near the canyon wall.

By the time Pam and I returned in July 2008, four years and nine months later, the landscape had changed. The invasive Russian Olives had been removed, and the White House Ruin was no longer painted white.

The same Route 191 that Sean and I had taken in 2003 led us through the Four Corners region of Northern Arizona. Pam and I had traveled from Colorado, arriving in the late afternoon. This time, the Navajo Reservation’s adherence to daylight savings time meant the sun wouldn’t set until 8:33 pm. My aim was to photograph the White House Ruin that I had missed years earlier.

That July day the sun set 8:33 pm as the Navajo Reservation observes daylight savings time. My goal was to photograph the White House Ruin I missed in 2003. We arrived at the trail head. My photography kit was expanded from 2003, now included a Kodak DSC Pro slr/C, the “C” meaning “Canon” lens mounting, a Sony 700 alpha slr (I only use a variable lens), Manfrotto tripod with hydrostatic ball head, and the backpack style Lowe camera case. With the tripod it is over 25 pounds.

With this on my back I was prepared to boogie down the trail. At the height of tourist season there were many more people at the trailhead. Pam, being a friendly person, started a conversation while I ploughed ahead along the flat canyon rim. It is solid red sandstone, beautiful, generally level with enough unevenness to require attention. When Pam saw how far ahead I was she tried to catch up, tripped, fell hard.

I backtracked to Pam and we decided what to do. She thought, maybe, the fall broke a rib. We decided to proceed and descended, slowly, together. Here we are in front of the ruin. The sun, low in the sky, is moving below the south canyon wall. This is a perfect time, and I used both cameras.

The sweep of cliff and desert varnish was my intent to capture. Here it is through the Canon 50 mm lens.

Click link for this White House photograph in my Online gallery.

I captured this version with the Sony Alpha 700 slr, the variable lens set to widest angle.

Click link for this White House photograph from my online gallery.

Here the camera setup waits out the sun…..

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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Autumn Evening Hike, turning home

through Devil’s Kitchen to Lucifer Falls

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In this third part, we continue hiking Treman gorge, approaching Lucifer Falls, viewing another waterfall further downstream and returning to the trailhead.

 Tiny Trumpet, unknown

I have never achieved a satisfactory capture of the waterfall in the Devil’s Kitchen, a place where the creek flow is diverted south by a projecting ridge. Less than 100 feet later the easterly direction is regained where the water plummets over Lucifer Falls.

The annual in fall of rock in Devil’s Kitchen uproots and crushes plants growing there. There is scant soil, the roots of this shiny purple trumpet bloom took hold in a microscopic crack. The plant is so thin, the flower so tiny it is lucky my gaze found it.

Click link for my fine art print “After the Rain: Showy Lady Slippers.”

After searching all my plant identification references, this plan is unknown to me.  Please help with identification. The bloom is 1/4 inch long.

Not far away, these asters grow from a slightly wider crack.  Pam pointed them out to me. I was drawn by the striking color difference of the heads growing from a single stalk.

Click link for my fine art print “Purple Asters.”

As trail winds around the ridge a stone wall rises on the right and for good reason.  The stream shortly reaches the brink of Lucifer Falls, 115 feet high.  Gorge walls fall away, the trail steepens.  Here is the view from the trail next to the brink.

At hand, on the right, a growth of ferns has survived many seasons.  Flowering plants are, in geological time (across billions of years), a relatively recent development compared to these non-flowering ferns.  The first flowering plants appears 120 million years ago compared to the first ferns, 360 million years ago.  Oddly enough, the spread of flowering plants affected evolution of ferns, an increase of fern speciation in parallel to the rise of flower plants.

While descending the stairs next to the falls brink, look to the right to see this ecosystem, a result of water seeping from the sedimentary rock stratification.

Here you can see how, at lower flow levels, the inactive sections of the fall lip become a garden.  In our climate, the entire brink is active for rare and brief intervals during spring thaws.  Note how, closer to the active brink, the grasses give way to mosses.  Where grasses grow the brink is almost never active.

The trail wall is a lighter color than the cliff, this is how you can see, on the right, the steep trail descent.

Pam and I turned around here.  This is some work I did August 2014 of a notable fall downstream from Lucifer.  I used the 24 mm Canon lens here, cropping the image.  My goal was to include the stair, for interest, with sunlight on the upper stairs; the water in shade.

Click link for my fine art print “Woodland Falls.”

Myrtle borders the trail as it rises from the gorge entrance.

Tree trunks fallen from the gorge walls are left to decay, restoring the soil.  The trunks are covered by moss among a thick growth of myrtle and a few ferns.

To finish, here is an image that may broaden your understanding of sunflowers. These smaller, ornamental sunflowers are, at first, difficult to place. Look carefully at the center, composed of many tiny flowers (florets). In crop sunflowers each of these becomes a seed. In this image, shiny beetles are feasting.

The End of this Evening Hike in Treman Gorge

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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Autumn Evening Hike Part 2 of 3

Water runs through it

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Portrait of Mill Falls

In part 2 of this series, we return to the starting point. Siting of a water mill requires immediate access to the potential energy of falling water, something called “head.” Upper Treman Park was once a prosperous hamlet with the mill as the kernel. Today, the head that drove the mill is a lovely cascade behind the substantial and intact mill building. Easy walking distance from parking, this is a well-known park feature.

Here are three versions of a portrait of Mill Falls using different lenses for varying effects. All were taken in the same season and approximate time of day, being early evening.

Click Me for “Mill Waterfall at low flow”, a fine art print from my gallery.

This is the uncropped image used in part 1 of this series. I found the secondary cascade a distraction. Exposure of the secondary is difficult to balance against the primary and more shaded primary.

Click link for “Mill Waterfall Primary Low Flow” fine art print.

Stone Span

Let’s return to where part 1 left off, the stone bridge across the eastern side of the gorge entrance gallery.

This segmental arch is an illusion, the beautiful stone work is the facing of the concrete structure that carries to load of the stone, itself and visitors.

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My composition emphasizes the mass of rock wall above the bench and into which it is placed.  The limestone slabs are from a different source, they are not built from the material removed from the cliff.

Seeds and Flowers

A dandelion on steroids.  If you can help with identification of this plant, please post a comment.

Click Me for “Ad Astra” a fine art print, in my gallery.

Blue asters, multiple stalks branch out from the main.

Click Me for “Purple Asters” a fine art print, in my gallery.

Look Back!!

Many first time visitors do not look back to appreciate these scene.  When we give advice, our recommendation is to return on the same gorge trail.  The different viewpoints make for a fresh experience.

Mr. Toad

Toads hide from passing feet at the base of step risers, among the plants and dried leaves.

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They are like people, sitting there.  Kenneth Graham’s genius, in writing “Wind in the Willows”, was to recognize the likable characteristics of the toad.  I find myself concerned about their survival, although they must survive.  Earlier in the season they are pea sized.  I resist an inclination to move them to what may be a more promising location, preferably with a stone house and chrome brilliant motor car.

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Autumn Evening Hike Part 1 of 3

It started with running water…..

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Over the weekend the handle of our 60 year old Delta brand kitchen faucet broke off, since we moved here I rebuilt it once and replaced the stainless steel sphere, the central control of the mechanism.  The stem of the sphere must have been faulty because it snapped. Monday, I visited Lowes and the sphere was not in stock.  Just wanting to fix the faucet, I skipped the usual vetting of a new product and grabbed the exact same Delta faucet which was, just like the sphere that broke, made in China.  The next step up in (questionable) quality was three times the price.

Running Water

Yesterday I installed a new faucet in the kitchen sink, a straightforward and unpleasant task that took most of the day.  Late afternoon, while resting up, I brought up the idea of a hike and Pam reminded me we had another clear September day.  Last week, I headed out to capture the Mill Creek waterfall of upper Treman Park at the perfect time of day.  It was a day such as this, warm, a cloudless sky, minimal breeze.

Mill Falls
Pam reminded me this evening I was trying to capture the Mill Waterfall of Upper Treman Park at the perfect moment when the sunlight glazes the pools.

I need to get in place a bit earlier.  Previously, I used a 24 mm wide angle lens and, today, mounted the EF 70-300mm f/4 – 5.6L USM lens on the Canon EOS 1DS MarkIII.  Did not have time to sort through the ND filters, so left the UV on.  The waterfall is in a glen, shaded from direct light at this time of day, sun low in the west.  Given the low light, to save time, I decided to set ISO to a low value (125), set lens to the widest angle (70 mm), and frame the shot using the heavy Manfrotto tripod with ball head.

Needed to crop the image for the above result, still not perfect.  I am seeking to full the entire pool in that glow.

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Mo's Bench
Towards the end of her life, my Mom waited for us on this bench while we walked. She enjoyed the sound of the creek, watching and chatting with passerbys. There some out of focus goldenrod right foreground. I frames the shot to catch the flowers and crop out a tree trunk.

Hiking the Gorge Trail

Instead of putting the gear away, I carried that heavy setup on the hike.  The strap around the neck is a lot of stress if it hangs.  With the gear cradled in the crook of my arm it is bearable.

Foot Bridge
The creek is spanned at several points by these stone footbridges, the work of the Civilian Conservation Corps, as are all the gorge trails. This bridge was restored last year. It leads to a marvelous grove of Sycamores.

Needless to say, the pace was sedate.  Pam spent most of the time walking ahead and refusing to be in any shots.  These past weeks, rainfall was light, so the creek is low.  This low flow is a necessary element to a perfect waterfall image.

Golden Rod
A single stem of goldenrod, ther are hundreds of species of this relative of the aster.
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I get some great macro shots with that lens.  With just the UV filter, it is quite fast.

Ferns, Lichen, Gorge Wall
The gorge wall rises to the right of the path.
Foot of the Gorge Wall
Very little of the gorge walls do not support thick growth of mosses, lichen, ferns, flowering plants of all kinds. I don’t know offhand the name of the cnetral plant growing from the base of the wall.

In the Gallery

Creek Pool
Shaped by whirlpools during high flow, the curves recall flowing water.

A memorable feature of upper Treman Park is the dramatic gorge entrance.  When the glaciers melted, 10,000+ years ago, enough water flowed through this watercourse to wear away several hundred feed of sedimentary rock to form a gallery, or hall, with towering, crumbling, walls on either side.

This evening the light was low, the water seemed dead in that it was clear and did not glisten or ripple.  I used these conditions in the above shot to emphasize the structure this pool.  Located at the foot of a waterfall, at high water, the falls fill channel and this pool is carved by river stones carried in the current.  At lower water, the pool is exposed.

Eons of Layers
Millions of years in rock strata.
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Foot Bridge
Spanning the eastern side of the gallery entrance of the gorge.

The footbridge, above, is most often photographed from the western side of a long gallery formed by the gorge carved by the creek.  This is a shot that explores the fine stonework.

Continued……..

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Lucifer Falls on an Autumn Evening

The post explores the symbolism of Lucifer and the Tiger Lily, suggesting that beauty and pride can lead to downfall, reminiscent of Lucifer’s narrative.

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Lucifer Falls from Rim Trail Overlook
Lucifer Falls from Rim Trail Overlook

A reader’s comment to this blog, thank you “Urban Liaisons,” prompted me to explore the word, Lucifer. “Lucifer”, in Christian tradition, refers to the devil as it was in a time of glory before the fall from grace. The original, ancient meaning of Lucifer is the planet Venus as it rises just before the sun at dawn.  In this sense, the name refers to the bright beauty of the spot.  The effect is heightened at midday when the hiker passes from the relative gloom of Devils Kitchen to the full light and sweep of the waterfall chasm.

Standing next to the falls on the Gorge Trail, the stone wall of the Rim Trail Overlook is overpowered by the grandeur of the 300+ foot cliff. The falls photographs were taken from behind the wall.

Lucifer Falls, early spring evening
Lower Lucifer Falls, early spring evening

Occasionally, we have experienced individuals climbing over the wall to stand on the other side. “Why?”

Summertime thick stands of tiger lilies flourish on the cliff face. Can you find the withered leaves?

I must delve into symbolic interpretations to explore the connection between Lucifer and the Tiger Lily. Lucifer, traditionally associated with rebellion and the fallen angel in Christian theology, symbolizes a break from divine order and beauty tainted by pride. On the other hand, the Tiger Lily is often seen as a symbol of wealth, pride, and prosperity in various cultures. The connection lies in the shared symbolism of pride and beauty. Just as Lucifer was a beautiful angel before his fall, the Tiger Lily is a strikingly beautiful flower, often associated with pride. This juxtaposition creates a metaphorical link, suggesting that beauty and pride, while alluring, can lead to downfall, mirroring Lucifer’s story.

Brink of Lucifer Falls
Luficer Falls Overlook, northeast

This session I finally “cracked” the puzzle of the Devil’s Kitchen Waterfall. I posted the results to the online gallery yesterday, for your enjoyment. Click the link to go there.

Click link for my fine art print “Devils Kitchen.”

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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Woodland Goldenrods

Woodland goldenrods in the Finger Lakes Region contribute to ecosystem biodiversity and resilience.

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In the Finger Lakes Region of Central New York State, a tapestry of flora unfurls across the landscape, marked by the vibrant yellows of woodland goldenrods. These wildflowers are not just a visual spectacle; they are integral to the ecosystem, contributing to its biodiversity and offering a feast for pollinators.

Woodland goldenrods (Solidago species) are part of a larger genus that encompasses over 100 species, many of which thrive in the varied habitats of the Finger Lakes. This region, with its rich soils, ample rainfall, and diverse topography, hosts an array of goldenrod species, each adapted to specific niches within the woodland understory.

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Solidago caesia, commonly known as blue-stemmed or wreath goldenrod, is one species that graces these woods. Unlike the typical roadside goldenrods, this species thrives in the dappled shade, its delicate arching stems culminating in small bursts of yellow flowers that appear like beaded necklaces draped over the greenery.

Another species, Solidago flexicaulis, or zigzag goldenrod, earns its name from the characteristic bending pattern of its stem, which zigzags between leaf nodes. Its flowers are more clustered, favoring the shade and moist conditions of the forest floor. Its presence is often a sign of a healthy, undisturbed woodland.

Solidago odora, or anise-scented goldenrod, brings a sensory delight to the mix with leaves that emit a licorice-like fragrance when crushed. This goldenrod favors the edges of woodlands and clearings, where sunlight can reach its clusters of tiny, bright yellow flowers.

The downy goldenrod, Solidago puberula, is yet another species that decorates the region’s woodlands. It prefers dry, sandy soils, often found on the slopes and ridges that contour the Finger Lakes. Its name comes from the fine hairs that cover its stems and leaves, a characteristic that distinguishes it from its kin.

Each of these goldenrods plays a role in the woodland ecosystem. Their flowers provide nectar and pollen for a variety of insects, from bees and butterflies to beetles and flies. The seeds are a food source for birds, and the plants themselves offer habitat to numerous woodland creatures.

The presence of woodland goldenrods also indicates the health of the region’s forests. These plants are often pioneers in disturbed areas, contributing to soil stabilization and the natural succession process. They are resilient and adaptable, capable of surviving in a range of conditions from full sun to dense shade, though each species has its preference.

In the Finger Lakes Region, the goldenrods bloom from late summer into the fall, their golden hues a prelude to the coming autumnal display. They stand as a testament to the beauty and complexity of these woodlands, their very existence a reminder of the delicate balance within these ecosystems.

In conclusion, the woodland goldenrods of the Finger Lakes are more than just a splash of color in the verdant forests. They are a vital part of the ecological tapestry, contributing to the biodiversity and resilience of the region. Each species, with its unique adaptations and preferences, adds to the rich natural heritage of Central New York State, reminding us of the intricate web of life that thrives in these woodlands.

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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Maple Leaves and Us

The maple leaf is here portrayed as a symbol of life’s journey, intricacy, and impermanence, offering profound reflections on existence and human aspiration.

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The maple leaf, a symbol cast from the arboreal giants that stand sentinel over the forests of the North, is an emblem woven into the very fabric of the natural world and the ethos of nations. In the hush of the woodland, where light dapples through the canopy, one might find the ground strewn with these deciduous gems, each a small testament to the grandeur of the cosmos and the cyclical poetry of life.

A maple leaf is an allegory for the human condition. The leaf, in its singular form, is a paragon of symmetry, its serrated edges a crown of nature’s meticulous artisanship. The veins that stretch across its surface, much like the lines upon an aged hand, speak of life’s intricate network, the invisible bonds that connect and sustain us. Each leaf, a verdant vessel, courses with the sap of existence, a lifeblood shared in the quiet brotherhood of the forest.

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Yet, as the seasons wheel from the halcyon days of summer to the mellowing glow of autumn, the maple leaf undergoes a transformation as profound as any in the human soul. It becomes a canvas upon which the twilight of the year is painted. Scarlet, amber, and gold – these are the hues of the leaf’s maturation, a visual sonnet to the passage of time. Mann may have mused on this metamorphosis, the leaf becoming an artifact of beauty at the very precipice of its own demise, a reflection on the bittersweet nature of all earthly endeavors.

Philosophically, the maple leaf’s journey from bud to decay is a microcosm of existence itself. In spring, it burgeons forth from the stark limbs of its parent tree, a symbol of rebirth and the perennial hope that accompanies new beginnings. In its zenith, it offers shelter and sustenance, an unheralded giver of life. But as it yields to the inevitable fall, swirling in the autumn winds to its rest upon the soft earth, it evokes a meditation on the impermanence of all things. The leaf, once the very emblem of vitality, now melds with the soil in quietus, a return to the elemental from which it sprung.

The maple leaf, then, is not merely an object of transient beauty, nor simply a token of the land it hails from. It is a narrative, a silent orator of the eternal truths that bind the soul of the artist to the canvas of the universe. It is a vessel for the musings of poets and philosophers, a simple yet profound cipher for the myriad complexities of existence.

I find maple leaves imbued with a weight of existential significance: its simple, pleasing shape a metaphor for the human aspiration towards beauty and the poignant inevitability of its corruption. For in the visage of the leaf, one might glimpse the duality of passion – the longing for the sublime, coupled inexorably with the sorrow of its fleeting grasp. Thus, the maple leaf, in its silent splendor, becomes a memento mori, a delicate reminder of the rapturous agony of life and the solemn peace of death.

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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Fungal…

Shelf fungi, known for their ecological role and unique physical features, hold significant cultural and practical importance in Native American traditions, medicine and art.

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Overview

Shelf fungus, also known as bracket fungus, comprises various species of polypore mushrooms that grow on trees, logs, or branches, forming shelf-like structures. These fungi are integral to forest ecosystems, functioning as decomposers that break down the cellulose and lignin in wood, facilitating nutrient cycling. They possess a hard, woody basidiocarp — the fruiting body — which can persist for years. The spore-producing surface is typically on the underside, featuring numerous tiny pores where spores are released. Shelf fungi are diverse, with species ranging from saprophytic to parasitic, some contributing to tree diseases like heart rot.

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Poetically Fungal

Shelf fungi captivate me with their silent tenacity, perched like wooden sentinels on forest guardians. Their presence is a reminder of nature’s cycles, breaking down the old to nourish the new. Each time I spy their intricate layers and earthy hues, I’m reminded of life’s layered complexities. They are nature’s artists, painting decay with a purposeful brush, turning fallen timber into rich soil. To me, they symbolize resilience, a testament to thriving in place, despite the odds. In their quiet existence, they echo the beauty of transformation, an emblem of life’s perpetual motion within the stillness of the woods.

Natively Fungal

The relationship between Native Americans and shelf fungi is rooted in a profound understanding of the natural world, where every element has a role in the cultural and practical life of a community. Shelf fungi, with their sturdy, shelf-like projections from trees, have been an integral part of Native American tradition, utilized for both medicinal and practical purposes.

Medicinally, various tribes recognized the healing properties of certain shelf fungi. The Iroquois, for example, used bracket fungi in poultices to treat wounds and swelling. Other tribes found uses for shelf fungi as anti-inflammatory agents or as a means to stop bleeding, embracing the fungi’s natural anticoagulant properties.

In everyday life, the unique physical properties of shelf fungi lent themselves to multiple uses. The Piptoporus betulinus, commonly known as the birch polypore, was carried by the Otzi the Iceman, a natural mummy dating back to over 5,000 years ago, likely for its antiseptic properties and as a means to carry embers due to its ability to smolder without flame. This hints at a broader prehistoric and indigenous use of fungi for fire carrying.

The tinder fungus, a type of shelf fungus, was particularly valued for its ability to hold a flame. Native Americans often used this fungus to transport fire between camps. They would hollow out a section of the fungus, fill it with hot embers, and cover it to create a portable and long-lasting source of fire. This was an essential technology for survival, especially during long treks or in adverse weather conditions.

Moreover, the Ganoderma species, commonly referred to as the Artist’s Conk, served as a canvas for art. These fungi have a white pore surface that darkens when touched. Native American artists utilized this characteristic to etch drawings and messages, turning these fungi into storytelling and communicative tools.

The profound connection between Native Americans and shelf fungi illustrates a deep ecological wisdom where even a simple fungus is interwoven into the fabric of cultural and survival practices. This symbiosis underscores the importance of every organism within an ecosystem, a lesson that resonates with contemporary efforts to understand and preserve our natural world.

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Right Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Dam Pond

Fillmore Glen Autumn

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As the season of harvest waned to the deep, fiery heart of November, I found myself beneath the boundless expanse of heaven’s azure, wandering the untouched expanses of the wilds. The sun, in its unwavering journey, cast its gaze upon the earth, illuminating the realm with a clarity that seemed to transcend the ages. It was upon such an afternoon that mine eyes beheld a vision of yesteryear’s industry, a relic from a time long since passed into the annals of history—an ancient dam and pond, nestled in the forest.

The water, a mirror to the sky, held within its embrace the autumnal celebration of the maples. Leaves, flames of red and gold, lay scattered upon the surface, drifting languidly atop the pond. Amongst this mosaic of nature’s final flourish, green tendrils of algae weaved patterns, as though the very spirits of the forest sought to lay claim to the waters with their verdant touch.

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The trees, mighty sentinels of maple, stood in grandeur around the pond, their boughs heavy with the weight of the season. Their leaves, caught in the throes of change, were painted with the brilliant hues of yellow and red, a testament to the time when the earth itself becomes an artist of unrivaled skill.

And there, frozen in the midst of this tranquil domain, stood the gears of the mill race, once alive with industry’s hum, now silent and immobile. They reached towards the heavens, their shadows etched upon the pond below, as if in a final, defiant stand against the passage of time.

Such a sight, in the clear, sunny afternoon of this November day in the year 2511, spoke to me of the enduring dance between man’s creations and the relentless, reclaiming hand of nature. It was a scene that stirred within me a profound reverence, a sense of communion with the generations that had walked these woods before. Here, in this hallowed place, time seemed to pause, allowing me a moment of solemn reflection in the ceaseless flow of eternity.

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Right Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com

Golden Paths…

Fillmore Glen Autumn

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Within Fillmore Glen, as autumn unfurls its vibrant tapestry, there lies a path that seems to exist between the pages of an unwritten folklore. It is a trail not marked for travel, bearing a solitary sign, “Not a trail. Do not enter,” which stands like a silent sentinel amidst the riot of colors. Yet, the path stretches on, an irresistible lure, a golden ribbon that meanders through the heart of the wood, carpeted with leaves that have taken their final, graceful descent to create a mosaic of reds, oranges, and yellows.

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The path is a secret thoroughfare, known only to the whispering trees and the shy creatures that watch from the underbrush. The air here is thick with the scent of damp earth and the musk of decay that heralds the deepening of autumn. It is a place out of time, where the distant sound of falling water is a constant undertone, a reminder of the unseen river that carves its way through the glen, its voice rising and falling with the wind.

The leaves that blanket the path rustle with the passage of unseen feet—perhaps the fox, or the silent owl that hunts at twilight. The golden footpaths are corridors of light, as the sun filters through the thinning canopy, casting long shadows and illuminating patches of the forest floor with a warm, amber glow.

Here, one’s footsteps become a part of the glen’s own rhythm, a soft tread upon the sacred ground. The sign’s warning goes unheeded by the whispering woods, which seem to beckon with a voice as old as the hills, inviting the soul to wander and to wonder. In Fillmore Glen, the path is not just a physical journey but a passage through the soul of autumn itself, a dance with the ephemeral, a fleeting embrace of the golden, transient beauty of the fall. It is not merely a place to walk; it is a path to feel, to breathe, to exist in harmony with the quiet pulse of the earth.

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Right Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com