The leaves are reaching their final stages on the deciduous trees. The Staghorn Sumacs have all of their leaves absent from the tree so only the red tufts remain. The wildflowers have died and left brown shadows of what they once were. The Hemlocks and White Pines remain strong and regal. The ferns still hold on for a bit longer around the swamp and path. The air and the water are continuing to dip lower and lower and time goes on. I can hear the calls of chickadees as all of the warblers and vireos have flown down south for the winter. A flock of Canada Geese flies over head. I can almost smell the cold as it brings a certain sweetness to the air. The same goes for the taste. It is a certain taste that has been implanted in my head through childhood. I walk along the path and feel the fresh mud at my feet (my dad slipped in it). Soon the water will be frozen and the chickadees and titmice will be searching for any food they can find. If I am lucky I might see some Pine Grosbeaks or Redpolls.
