"Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar.
Reflecting sunlight, they swirled and sailed and fluttered on the wind drafts."

— Delia Owens (Where the Crawdads Sing)

I sat outside in the late afternoon with my camera. He had raked the last of the leaves and the red maple was almost bare. I pulled my hood up over my head, allowing only the lens to peek out. It didn’t take long for the birds to settle in.