From a modest bench above Taughannock Gorge, Cayuga Lake shifts from distant glimmer to presence—a quiet invitation to pause, breathe, and follow the water down.
From the south rim of Taughannock Gorge, Cayuga Lake appears like a distant strip of sapphire, framed today by a soft veil of hemlock and oak. The overlook here is modest—a fence, a bit of open sky—but someone wisely added a comfortable bench, an invitation to pause between gorge and lake, rock and water.
I stood in front of that bench, resting the camera body on the fence, fingers braced against the wood to steady the shot. This is not the grand, sweeping vista of a postcard. Instead, it is a quieter, more human vantage point, the way a person actually encounters the lake after walking the rim: emerging from the trees, breath easing, eyes adjusting to the light on water.
From here, the trail descends toward Cayuga’s shore, each turn bringing you lower and closer, trading the lofty perspective for the intimate sounds of waves and stone. In Distant Sapphire I and II, the lake was a glimpse—caught between branches, distant beyond the gorge. Now, in this “Bench View,” the water feels nearer, almost within reach, as though the landscape itself is drawing you gently down.
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Cayuga Lake Bench View
I’ve gathered the three photographs—Glimpse of Cayuga Lake, Gorge View with Oak Leaves, and this Cayuga Lake Bench View—into a small gallery, a progression of approach. Each frame is a step closer: from suggestion, to invitation, to the quiet promise of the bench, waiting for whoever needs to sit and look a little longer.
A gallery of the three Cayuga Lake photographs for comparison.
Glimpse of Cayuga LakeGorge View with Oak LeavesCayuga Lake Bench View
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Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Cayuga Lake from the south rim of Taughannock Gorge, seen through a veil of hemlock with a carpet of fallen oak leaves, foreground. This is a companion to the previous post, both were handheld. For this the foreground was included to increase interest. For added stability, I rested the camera body on the fence bracketed with my fingers.
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Gorge View with Oak Leaves
A gallery of the two photographs for comparison.
Glimpse of Cayuga LakeGorge View with Oak Leaves
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Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
On a serene autumn afternoon by Beebe Lake, a solitary red maple stood out against the backdrop, showcasing its vibrant colors and resilience, symbolizing autumn’s fleeting beauty.
It was one of those serene autumn afternoons that linger in memory, the kind where the sky seems impossibly clear, the air crisp and gently scented with fallen leaves. I stood at the edge of Beebe Lake, my gaze first drawn to the textured concrete dam holding back the water, its weathered facade contrasting sharply with the soft reflections shimmering across the lake’s calm surface. Beyond, the wooded hillside rose gently, a tapestry woven with the warm hues of autumn—golds, greens, oranges, and reds mingling like brush strokes on a canvas.
An October Glory, turning before all others
Yet amidst this collective beauty, one tree captured my attention, singular in its brilliance—a solitary red maple standing proudly on the lakeshore. Its leaves had turned a vivid crimson, blazing brightly as though defying the muted earth tones surrounding it. Even from a distance, framed and partially obscured by larger trees, its vibrant reflection cast a fiery echo on the water, rippling softly in the afternoon breeze.
The maple, Acer Rubrum, seemed perfectly at home here, thriving robustly at the water’s edge. I remembered reading how adaptable red maples are, able to flourish in conditions ranging from dry uplands to swampy shores. This spot, near the edge of the tranquil Beebe Lake, seemed to showcase its resilient character perfectly.
Up close, the maple’s glow was even more striking. Its leaves cascaded in fiery clusters, hues deepening from bright scarlet at the tips to a darker maroon closer to the branches. This dramatic gradient seemed symbolic of autumn itself—beautiful, fleeting, and subtly tinged with the melancholy reminder of winter’s approach.
The Red Maple (Acer Rubrum) to tolerant of diverse conditions, making it a perfect choice for this spot on the short of Beebe Lake.
A memory surfaced of early spring in the Finger Lakes region, a time when maples, including this red maple, generously share their sap. Though not traditionally tapped like its sweeter cousin, the sugar maple, this species’ sap can indeed be boiled down into syrup, a surprising sweetness hidden within its sturdy trunk. Standing in its shadow, imagining those early spring days, it seemed astonishing that the same tree could offer both the delicate sweetness of syrup and the fierce beauty now on display.
Curiously, the transformation of the tree appeared methodical yet whimsical—it changed colors from the top down, its upper branches already bare, exposing slender twigs pointing skyward. Like an artist carefully removing layers to reveal something deeper beneath, the maple unveiled its upper bare bones first, as though reminding observers of the quiet strength supporting its autumn splendor.
This Red Maple (Acer Rubrum) turns from the top down and has already bare for most top branches.
As I lingered, taking in this turning tree, joggers passed by along the path, their rhythmic footsteps a gentle percussion beneath the rustling leaves. Briefly, they glanced toward the vivid maple, perhaps drawn, like me, by its striking contrast to the surrounding foliage. It felt like we shared a secret admiration for this singular tree, recognizing in it a quiet assertion of individuality amidst conformity.
Eventually, I viewed the maple once more from afar, framed now by broader sweeps of branches and leaves, partially obscured but no less vivid. Through layers of leaves and dappled sunlight, it glowed like a distant flame, a beacon that seemed to encapsulate the entire mood of the season—warm yet cool, bright yet transient.
The Red Maple (Acer Rubrum) is the first to flower in spring and the first to turn in autumn.
Walking away, the image of that maple lingered, its reflection shimmering gently in the afternoon sun, a moment suspended between summer’s lush vitality and winter’s bare stillness. Beebe Lake had offered scenic beauty, a quiet meditation, a reflection mirrored not only on its tranquil surface but in the heart of an observer captivated by a single tree’s fleeting glory.
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The Finger Lakes region, renowned for its natural beauty and changing seasons, put on a stunning performance on October 24, 2024. From the vibrant reds of a Japanese maple (Acer palmatum) to the golden hues of oak leaves (Quercus spp.), this photographic journey through our home captures the essence of autumn in upstate New York.
A Panoramic Tapestry
In the first photograph, the landscape unfolds like a watercolor painting. Hills dressed in fiery oranges and golds stretch across the horizon, with hints of evergreen pines (Pinus spp.) providing contrast. The sky, dotted with wispy clouds, serves as a serene backdrop, while the foreground frames the scene with bare tree limbs—a reminder that autumn is both a celebration of life and a prelude to winter’s dormancy. This image evokes a sense of timelessness, connecting us to the rolling hills that have witnessed countless seasons of change.
View from our porch across Ithaca to East Hill, Cornell University, Ithaca Falls on an October 2024 afternoon. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State
Japanese Maple: A Crimson Jewel
The next series of images focuses on the Japanese maple (Acer palmatum), a tree whose vibrant red foliage becomes a magnet for admiration in autumn. One close-up reveals delicate leaves, their intricate lobes illuminated by the afternoon sun. The interplay of light and shadow transforms each leaf into a tiny stained-glass window. Another photograph showcases the tree in its entirety, a commanding presence against the verdant lawn. It is a poignant reminder of nature’s artistry, where every branch and leaf contributes to the symphony of color.
Firebush and Japanese Maple in autumn colorsJapanese maple leaves and samara in autumn colors. From our yard October 2024Japanese maple leaves and samara in autumn colors. From our yard October 2024
Home Amid the Foliage
Nestled within this autumnal palette is our home, a mid-century structure that seems almost inseparable from its surroundings. The expansive lawn, a lush carpet of green, contrasts with the fiery colors of nearby oak (Quercus spp.) and maple trees (Acer spp.). In one angle, the house appears almost tucked away, sheltered by Eastern Hemlock (Tsuga canadensis) and junipers (Juniperus spp.) that add a sense of permanence to the scene. This juxtaposition of human habitation and natural splendor underscores how our lives are intertwined with the land we call home.
Our oak trees in autumn colors
Oak Leaves: A Study in Texture
A close-up of oak leaves (Quercus spp.) showcases their rugged beauty, with jagged edges and deep veins that seem etched by time itself. Their colors—ranging from deep amber to burnished copper—are a testament to the richness of autumn’s palette. These leaves, clinging tenaciously to their branches, remind us of resilience and the fleeting beauty of the season.
Our oak tree in autumn colors. Helmock backdrop
Hydrangeas in Transition
The hydrangea bushes (Hydrangea paniculata) by the house present a softer side of autumn. Their once-vivid blooms have faded to pastel pinks and creams, lending an air of nostalgia. These flowers, in their gentle decline, mirror the transition of the season, where vibrancy gives way to a quieter beauty. The hydrangea blooms seem to whisper the story of the summer past, offering a delicate contrast to the bolder hues of the surrounding trees.
Our oak tree in autumn colors. Pam’s hydrangia.
The Resilient Shrubs
Creeping Juniper (Juniperus horizontalis), here in the foreground, provides a grounding element in the composition, with a steadfast green the reminder of life persisting even as deciduous leaves fall. The dense shrubbery near the house creates a protective cocoon, framing the building with a sense of natural security. The dynamic interplay between these evergreens and the changing foliage of maples and oaks reflects the layered complexity of this landscape.
Reflections on an Afternoon
As I wandered through these scenes with camera in hand, I was struck by the interplay of light, color, and texture. Each photograph captures a fleeting moment, a slice of a season that, despite its predictability, never fails to surprise and inspire. Autumn in the Finger Lakes is a time of reflection, a reminder to pause and appreciate the world around us.
These images, taken on a single afternoon, tell a story of a landscape alive with color and character. From the steadfast junipers to the delicate hydrangea blooms, from the fiery maples to the enduring oaks, they invite us to celebrate not just the beauty of nature but also our place within it—a home nestled among trees that have stood for decades, witnessing the rhythms of the earth.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
The air was soddenly warm that Thanksgiving morning in 2023, carrying a foreboding of climate change. Standing on the grounds of Ithaca High School, I couldn’t help but feel the incongruity of the unseasonable warmth. The annual “Turkey Trot” was unfolding around me, an event filled with cheerful camaraderie, yet beneath the surface of this tradition, the world itself seemed to whisper a warning. My attention drifted from the runners to the ground, where fallen leaves painted a story that echoed this uneasy tension.
The ginkgo leaves, their vibrant golden hues glowing against the damp grass, seemed almost out of place in the humid air. Ginkgos are ancient survivors, trees that have witnessed millennia of change, yet even they now face a future shaped by the rapid pace of human disruption. Their fan-like shapes, so delicate and timeless, carried an irony—symbols of endurance scattered on a landscape where the seasons no longer held the predictability they once did. That morning, their luminous beauty felt like a quiet plea, a reminder of nature’s fragility in the face of human indifference.
As a spectator of the 2023 “Turkey Trot” on Thanksgiving Day I found these Ginko and Sycamore leaves at Ithaca High School, Ithaca, Tompkins County New York. Finger Lakes Region
Among them, the sycamore leaves lay darker and more rugged, their broader forms curled and weathered by the elements. The sycamore is a resilient tree, often thriving in difficult conditions, yet its leaves bore a somber note against the warmth of the day. Together, the ginkgo and sycamore leaves formed a poignant tableau—a meeting of strength and delicacy, both subject to the same unrelenting forces of change. As I stood there, the leaves seemed to whisper their own story, a testament to survival amidst an increasingly uncertain world.
Ginko Leaves and Honey Locust Pods, Stewart Park on a December 2023 afternoon
The Turkey Trot unfolded with its usual energy—children dashed ahead with gleeful abandon, adults paced themselves in cheerful determination, and older participants moved with quiet dignity. The warmth seemed to amplify the human vibrancy of the event, yet it also cast a shadow of dissonance. This race, this celebration of resilience and community, was happening against the backdrop of a world in flux. The warmth of the morning was a reminder that even cherished traditions like this might one day feel the strain of climate shifts.
I crouched to capture the leaves in a photograph, drawn by their interplay of color and form. The ginkgo leaves glimmered like gold coins scattered across the ground, while the sycamore leaves added a depth and weight that anchored the scene. Together, they reminded me of the cyclical nature of life, the beauty and decay that coexist within the same space. Yet this year, the warmth in the air added an unsettling layer to the story. These leaves, so central to the rhythm of seasons, were now falling in a world where those rhythms seemed increasingly disrupted.
Bare Ginko tree with leaf pattern, Stewart Park on a December afternoon 2023
As the sunlight broke through the clouds, it illuminated the edges of the ginkgo leaves, making them shimmer with an almost otherworldly light. I lingered in that moment, feeling the weight of its quiet truth: life is fleeting, but its beauty endures in the connections we foster and the memories we hold. That Thanksgiving, the humid warmth of the air reminded me that we live in a time of profound change, yet even amid uncertainty, there is still wonder to be found beneath our feet. It is a wonder worth preserving.
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On a crisp October afternoon, October 3, 2024, Pam and I reveled in Upper Robert H. Treman State Park, a serene oasis nestled in Tompkins County. This visit was particularly special for us, a step in Pam’s recovery from her August hip replacement. I remember the sound of her hiking pole tapping the ground as we walked together, feeling grateful for her progress since surgery. The air was cool, and the leaves, turning gold and orange, whispered in the breeze, providing the perfect backdrop for our outing that day.
Our path followed the creek, the same creek that winds through the heart of the park, framed by layers of stone and lush vegetation. In one of the first photos I took that day, you can see the creek reflecting the soft autumn light, its bed dotted with rocks and fallen branches. The vibrant greens of the undergrowth juxtaposed with the golden leaves made the scene feel timeless, as though nature itself was participating in Pam’s recovery, offering healing in its quiet, enduring beauty.
The view upstream just before the creek enters The Gallery. Robert H. Treman State Park, Enfield, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State.
We paused to take in the quiet hum of life around us. There was a sense of history in the park that seemed to blend with our personal story. As we wandered deeper, we reached the foundation of the old Budd House, its stone blocks now barely a shadow of the past but still carrying echoes of life lived long ago. The placard described Charles Budd, a village blacksmith and postmaster, and his wife, Deborah, who continued to serve the community after his passing. Standing there, I reflected on how these stones, much like Pam’s journey, represented resilience and the passage of time.
Site 2: The Budd House
The stone blocks set in the lawn here outline the subsurface remains of the home of Charles Budd and his family. Budd was the village blacksmith and postmaster.
Before the Industrial Revolution introduced cheap, mass-produced goods, blacksmiths crafted all manner of metal implements, re-shoed horses, and repaired carriages. Below to the left is a photo of a blacksmith shop in Tompkins County.
As the Enfield Falls postmaster, Charles Budd ran the post office out of the parlor (similar to a living room) of his house. He held this position until his death in 1896. His wife, Deborah Budd, then faithfully served as postmaster until the post office closed in 1902.
Did you know?
Step into the foundation outline. The size of the Budd House is typical for a 19th century middle-class house. How many rooms of your home would fit in the footprint of the Budd’s entire house?
In the 19th century, rural community members picked up their mail once a week at post offices like Budd’s. These post offices were closed with the United States Postal Service’s transition to “rural delivery”—the nationwide delivery of mail directly to everyone’s doorstep. We still enjoy this service over 100 years later.
In the 19th century, voluminous mail-order catalogues by companies like Sears & Roebuck and Montgomery Ward sold everything from clothing to home and farm supplies to buyers across the nation. Packages took days or weeks to arrive, and customers would have eagerly checked with postmasters to see if their order had been delivered. This excitement and anticipation are reflected in the musical number “The Wells Fargo Wagon” in the Broadway musical The Music Man set in 1912 Iowa.
A free walking tour brochure, Archaeology in the Park, is available on the main floor of the Old Mill. Upper Treman. Robert H. Treman State Park, Enfield, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State.
As we stood by the foundation, we met another couple. The woman shared her own story of recovery, a tale of resilience that resonated deeply with us. She had fallen and suffered a spinal injury, becoming paralyzed from the neck down, while traveling. Thanks to surgery and rehabilitation, she regained full mobility. There was a moment of understanding and connection between us. We offered to take a photo of them, and they returned the favor, capturing the two of us—Pam leaning lightly on her cane, smiling, surrounded by trees whose leaves were beginning to fall. That picture, one of my favorites from the day, symbolizes not just Pam’s strength but also the support and shared experiences that come with recovery.
We are taking a walk through upper Treman Park during Pam’s recovery from hip replacement. This was taken by a couple we met.
The park offered us a space for reflection and a sense of continuity. The trees, some towering over us with roots gripping the earth, had seen many seasons of change, and now they watched over us as we walked beneath them. In the clearing where picnic tables stood, we sat for a while, simply absorbing the moment. The afternoon light filtered through the branches, casting long shadows on the grass.
One of the final photos I took that day captures the creek from another angle. The water, calm and clear, reflects the yellow hues of the trees, while the rocks and roots along the bank seem frozen in time. It’s a peaceful image, one that reminds me of the quiet strength that Pam has shown throughout her recovery.
Here Fish Creek, a tributary of Enfield Creek joins the flow just below the pavilion of Upper Treman.
We left the park that day feeling both uplifted and grounded, the layers of history and personal resilience blending seamlessly into the natural landscape. Upper Robert H. Treman had become had become a part of Pam’s recovery story, a testament to the healing power of both nature and community.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
In the shadow of McGraw Tower, Natan grapples with surreal encounters and mystical occurrences, questioning the nature of reality itself. Open my blog to uncover the mysteries of McGraw Tower and Natan’s journey into the heart of the extraordinary.
The first week of November 2023 I posted a series of photographs from Fillmore Glen from the Canon 5D Mark IV. Today, I present a series of photographs from the same day using the Sony Alpha 700 dslr using a variable 18-200 mm lens.
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Michael Stephen Wills Photography 