Every season has its own glory in New England, for every month has its separate identity, different personality. October is the dramatic month, everyone knows about autumn in New England. More and more tourists come during October and eager travelers stop all along the roads taking dozens of pictures.
The air is cool as an old coin teaspoon, and a faint tang of blue woodsmoke spices the wind. The color of the great sugar maples is so dazzling it seems I must have dreamed it. The maples give forth light, like closer suns. The oaks glow with a garnet fire, and all the thickets blaze with scarlets and pale gold and cinnamon. It is like the music of a trumpet.
Stillmeadow Daybook, 1955