A little bucolic beauty to soothe body and soul

 

I have seen more dramatic seasons of the turning leaves, but this island is not, usually, about natural drama. This bit of New England is about tenacity, persistence at the sometimes bleak edge of the continent. That doesn't mean there are not occasional vivid contrasts, but more subtle views are more common.

I wonder whether anyone lives in there.

 

The leaves have done their task.

 

Bambi visiting the yard is not exactly welcome. The all-too numerous deer are vectors for the ubiquitous Lyme Disease tick. It's bow hunting season at present, which implies where there are deer, there might be hunters. But that's a dawn and dusk thing.

 

Back in town, it's good to know Timmy has a job at the feed store. He lucked out.

 

I'm beginning to recover from what seems as if it were a viral pneumonia. Not all gone, but receding. Sleep is healing. Will try to resume blogging this week. The agony of Gaza and Israel doesn't help, not to mention so much other human misery. And joy also persists.