Picturing autumn has been difficult.  So much of the spectacle happens far away, and if there is anything I like a camera for, it’s getting close.  Siennas and ochres and vermillions trace the horizon of roller-coastering hills, containing the uniform fields of sandy colored stalks – maybe corn, maybe soy – waiting to be chewed up by mega-harvesters, and sent on their way to fuel someone or something.  The low afternoon light seems to articulate every leaf as it lifts and twists obediently in a gust of wind a quarter of a mile away.  Its all I can do to tear my eyes away and get back to watching the road ahead.   These distant visions are something I can’t keep or be a part of.  I just have to let them transmigrate into the rear view mirror, then disappear – another soul that can’t be trapped.  The trees are showing off entirely for themselves – some kind of reward for a summer well spent spinning sunlight into gold.