I need to get out in the woods. Doing so at this time of year means sharing it with deer hunters, and with bears that have not yet forsaken the beech nuts and berries. It means broader views opening up beneath the barren canopy, and being under mountain shadows by mid-afternoon. It means the cry of the geese above and the smell of the leaves underfoot. It means stepping outside the shell of myself and my daily surroundings.

I need to head for high ground. The autumn air up there is a matchless stimulant. I crave the knife edge of the long slope, the long view from above. I want to worm my way upstream in a cool ravine, amid the hemlocks and the wild trout in their plunge pools. I want to span my hands about the girth of one of those oldest of the old trees that remain in a few places that have never known an ax.

@ Walking the Berkshires