It's another brash blue day here in North Carolina, and it's finally autumn. The trails through Bent Creek and Richmond Hill are soft and slippery with wet leaves as the trees slowly shake themselves bare.
Mornings are often heavy with clouds and I settle into them, expecting each day for the fog to remain, closing in on the town, blurring the view of the backyard. I keep thinking that one day soon the rain will begin, and the darkness, and it will stay for the rest of the year and for months after.
But by early afternoon, the mist has burned off, the sun is high, and even though the leaves are dreary and decaying on the ground, each day is bright and blue and warm enough.
My photos look so different now. The color palate of my entire life has changed- it's become deciduous, sunlight pouring through spring green forests, the white spray of rapids against a light blue sky. I spent over a decade enveloped in the rich tones of the Pacific coast- dark green and heavy pearl, espresso, mist, a dozen different grays of the sea in the afternoon. Now that October is falling away, I'm bracing for those colors. But they won't come.
Everything is different now. Look where I used to be.
Look where I am now.