First, some of the maples turned, then lost their leaves. Subsequently, all the other trees and bushes sat there, like, well, like bumps on a log, apparently unaware that autumn was here.
Yesterday, driving up Route 128, hooray, finally, glorious color. Last night: monsoons. Many of the leaves fell, but good color today in the village of Mansfield. This is the weirdest fall ever, following the weirdest non-summer of the tomato blight.
We have three big tomatoes ripening in the kitchen window. Finally.
Last Friday we hiked up the hill beyond Concord Bridge. Always scenic. The beech trees were splendid.
The slough rose during the night, and we still have red leaves on the bushes within and color across the slough.
Yesterday was the first Boston Book Festival, and we took the Green Line into town to partake of the festivities. What a huge crowd. Gave me hope that there are a lot of writers and readers and bibliphiles out there. Not the usual geriatric crowd but lots of young folks. We particularly enjoyed Grub Street's Writer Idol, Orhan Pamuk's reading and talk and Boston Noir, a reading and after hours party with fine folk, food and bevs, a congenial crowd and what more do you want?
A fine day, and we got home just as the rains came in a major way.