As the crow flies, my farm is less than two miles from the Willamette River that flows deep and brown through the fertile valley of the same name, in Northwest Oregon. From my porch upon a hill, I have views out over that valley looking east and north and as fall comes around, early morning light and dampness transfers hints of rich river scents, this added moisture paired with the absents of wind pervades and manifests an enveloping shroud of silence, with low moving banks of slow white ghostly ground fog that renders striking visual contrasts to the landscape, with its stands of emerald evergreen trees, and autumn dressed orange and yellow leaved varieties of deciduous trees, along with sculpted brown newly plowed fields. Another of Nature's own fleeting ever changing painted canvases that never disappoints.
One must rise early at first light on these chilly morning to witness this seasonal panoramic scene, but it is always worth the effort. And what the heck, I'm retired, I can snap some photos and always crawl back into my nice warm bed to sleep, or merely cogitate on what I've been witness to.