We explored the brook today. No matter the absence of fall color. I was happy to rely on other senses to appreciate this new place. The ground was deeply folded. Clubmosses carpeted the ridges and thoughtfully-placed stones allowed us to cross a number of tributaries. Joanna and Darcy descended the gorge which had been announced on a weathered sign at the trailhead. The path met the tributary where it joined the brook. I donned my waders as my companions continued on. I walked upstream, stopping when photographic potential dictated. As I scrambled up and along the sometimes icy jumbles of stone, I paused. Water and rocks are relatively invariate, I thought, when compared to the wood which surrounded me. It was different. Different from the sort I had come to appreciate at the Farm. This new placed smiled, as did all of the woodlands we have come to know in our new home. I have developed a quick appreciation for exposed bedrock. On this day, the absence of foliage allowed shy, fleeting, shafts of light to dance within the understory before being extinguished by passing clouds. The surrounding vegetation formed a natural topiary of endless variety. If I looked long enough I could see an enormous sculpture garden of wood, stone, and negative space. The sounds of birds, water, and wind, intermingled. The sweet phrases, punctuated by silence. My riparian promenade presented a feast for the senses.