A lot of leaves have fallen, leaving some trees almost barren, while others cling on to theirs, with the Eastern White Pines retaining almost all of their needles. The ground is carpeted with leaves, and they’re mostly yellow, green, and brown, with one strikingly orange white oak just before you get to my spot. The stream is flowing more steadily, up from a slow trickle, and doesn’t really have any stagnant sections. While I was sitting there, I heard a cicada buzzing, as well as several different birds, although I don’t know what types. When I first arrived I just barely saw a chipmunk dart across the rocks before disappearing.
