The woods up near Cold Spring are perpetually surprising. I try to head up north every year around this time and the colors are always slightly different, moderated by unknown timetables. On this particular excursion, it rained intermittently while we were scrambling up the rocky trails which made everything seem slightly unreal. At one point, the sky was glowing red in the distance.
Every time I visit these trails, I think of the ghosts that live here and way that the stones and rocks underfoot will eventually lose their formation. Someone warned me against making walking an act of aggressive consumption, and I think there is some merit to the advice. But for me, I think of all these places as haunted and wishing for acknowledgement. Conversations are everywhere if you can bear to take part.