Picture Perfect Days

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I love this time of year in Maine. No sadness for me over the passing of summer. I am ready for the cool wood-smokey air, the thick golden afternoon sunlight, and the magical color explosion that is fall in New England.

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The color in the perennial garden pales next to the maples.

When we lived in Alaska, I always became depressed in the fall. The season there was so brief–a week or so of glorious yellow aspens, soon stripped by strong winds.

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It was a jarring transition from the wonder of an Alaskan summer to a very long stretch of winter darkness and cold.

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Fall in Maine, on the other hand, gradually unfolds in a lovely progression of harvest and colors so exquisite they almost hurt.

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And the colors change day by day, as one tree fades, others peak, making every walk and drive a changing palette of brilliance.

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Photographs do not adequately convey the way the sun illuminates the trees, transforming them into glowing, blazing living sculptures.

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The colors this year are the most vivid I have ever seen.

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Out kayaking when the leaves were just starting to turn, the reflections were so clear that they created kaleidoscope-like patterns.

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Reflection of a log turned on its side.

The water was very low and I had to carefully work my way over the shallows from lake to river–just an inch to spare.

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This sand bar was a foot underwater in the spring.

But I was rewarded by basking turtles and a heron unfazed as I slowly drifting nearby.

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No frost yet, so I am slowly–very slowly–putting the vegetable gardens to bed.

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The sunflowers continue to feed the birds and one acrobatic red squirrel.

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George has been working hard putting in our back fence.

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And Capp is enjoying our picture perfect days.

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The door is open and I’m not sneaking outside. Good boy.

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