If we were having coffee: First frost edition

Watching Friday’s sunrise from grass level.

I think people who don’t know the woods very well sometimes imagine it as a kind of undifferentiated mass of greenery, an endless continuation of the wall of trees they see lining the road.  And I think they wonder how it could hold anyone’s interest for very long, being all so much the same.  But in truth I have a list of a hundred places in my own town I haven’t been yet.  Quaking bogs to walk on; ponds I’ve never seen in the fall (I’ve seen them in summer — but that’s a different pond).  That list gets longer every year, the more I learn, and doubtless it will grow until the day I die.  So many glades; so little time.

Bill McKibben, Wandering Home