A quick stroll after voting this morning. It has been a tense election. Walking in the woods is an antidote to all that ails. Even vile thoughts of another Harper Government.

Well, maybe.

Autumn requires few words. The conversation is in the leaves. In the pen and ink wisps of trees and bushes. In the softening light. In the echo of woodpeckers.

Peak fall has given way to the muted tones of grey and brown, but there are still bright daubs of colour in the woods. Reds and yellows and greens. A season for detail. For realism. Every dangling, spotted leaf. Every naked branch. Beetles and chickadees. Spruce cones. Tamarack needles. Bright white berries and clumps of red currants. The Impressionists can have summer. Autumn is for close observation, for high resolution imagery.