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I’m an autumn transplant. I am not of the prairies with miles upon miles of corn fields, or the stark vastness of the Great Plains, or the endless shades of browns in the deserts of the southwest, or the dulcimer echoes up and down the Appalachian Mountains.

I am from autumn in NewΒ  England.

From the rock walls and the babbling brooks. I am of the endless call of the ocean waves pummeling the rocky crags and shores. I am of clapboard homes and windy roads created by meandering cattle from centuries past.

My heart is built upon greens as rich and deep as the reds and oranges they become.Β  The continual smell of the wood fires warming hearths and homes. This is the stuff I am made of.

Autumn is particularly hard for me to be away. While I’ve learned to appreciate the beauty in each of the different places that I lived (although it took me A REALLY LONG TIME to come to appreciate the desert), nothing thrills me like autumn in New England.

As our weather has begun the slow decent to the stark beauty of the winter wonderlands, the longing in me grows for my glorious New England home. So I just want to share some photos I’ve found online that touch something deep within me.

New England New England autumn New England autumn Maine



Linking to any number of these lovely blogs.
(Images courtesy creative commons 2.0 and 3.0/Wikimedia Commons: Pugetopolis; Albert Bierstadt [Public domain]; Fredlyfish4; and John Phelan)


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