Fall is the perfect time to disappear to the heart of the Adirondacks. My photography reflects the view from my own piece of God’s country in Athol, New York. The burning colors, the smell of drying leaves, the crunch under my feet, and the sound of critters gathering food to last them through the barren winter, compels my thoughts to drift to the words of a seventeenth century American poet, Anne Bradstreet. These first two stanzas of “Contemplations” place me in awe of raw nature and the matriarchal strength of spirit reflected in her reverent, yet joyful, words:

Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o’re by his rich golden head.
Their leaves and fruits seem’d painted but was true
Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew,
Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.

I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I,

If so much excellence abide below,
How excellent is he that dwells on high?
Whose power and beauty by his works we know.
Sure he is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,
That hath this under world so richly dight.
More Heaven than Earth was here, no winter and no night.

Athol Autumn