The drive home is not my favorite part of going to the beach, however during this time of year I’m treated to some of the most magnificent scenery the state has to offer.
For the longest time, I would approach a particular intersection and wonder what treasures could be found in that direction. I knew the road had to loop around to my destination, even if it was a few miles longer and a bit out of my way. After careful consideration (and a need to stop and get the car fueled up) I took a different route home.
What a serendipitous choice. As I rounded the corner, I was treated to the brilliant autumn colors along the hillside awash with light. Blue sky reflected in the river while sunlight dotted each undulation of the water. Gulls circled and herons stalked. The road was wide open ahead of me and the air was ripe with adventure.
At one point I toyed with the idea of taking an even longer route home along an untraveled (by me) road. The weather was perfect, the colors were enticing, but back at home, the kitties were waiting. And at that intersection, I chose to return to the familiar route.
But while it was familiar, it was not without beauty. There is a section I refer to as Ghostwood. It is a stand of fir trees that are silvered with moss and age, trunk deep in water. They are surrounded by their living relatives, yet they still stand, resplendent and glorious even in death.
Once again on familiar ground, the hillsides were bedecked in their winter garb, deciduous trees bereft of leaves, kept safe from frost by their deep-green robed conifer brethren. Over rolling hills and around long corners, the season deepened. Vine maple had lost some of their fiery red, but none of the loveliness. Where the trees had been felled, either by ax or by storm, the vistas opened to hills and valleys, all preparing for the coming cold season. One last fling of color before sleep.