Today I went to walk in the woods . I had not been there for over 4 years but they have not changed much. There was no vestige of autumn there, winter had already spread her cloak over the forest. Ducks swam confidently on the lakes that dot the preserve and a lone swan stretched its neck in the distance as I watched from a bridge. It was a stark and stiff landscape. Trees stood so tall as if starched and no wind blew. The only color in the drab scenery was the ubiquitous bittersweet vine. Bittersweet is native to America found in woodlands across the East, and in the colonial days was given that name because it looked so much like a nightshade plant found in Europe , one that they all remembered. The Indians and settlers used bittersweet to induce vomiting and of all things to treat tuberculosis. The pretty berries are poisonous if ingested by humans but are manna to birds in winter. I stopped to listen to the water rushing over rocks and could have sat there for hours just looking out upon that ancient scene. There were too many people whizzing by on bicycles . They came up behind you like noiseless, creeping things and I kept thinking if I had moved a hair's breath to the left or right, I would have been knocked over right then and there. One man was going so fast that the walkers stopped and stared at his unconscious pedaling. A mother with her two sons, one fat and one thin , looked at me in hopeless dejection as she scolded the fat one for his clumsiness on his bicycle. Exasperated at his unwarranted complaints, she turned to me, a lone walker on the path, and rolled her eyes. I smiled and wondered how often this scenario repeats itself at her home. It was good to be on that road again. Autumn in November is the doorkeeper to the cold and snow to come, and I thought it would not be much longer until the ice would form on the ponds and the branches crackle and break under the weight of a January snowfall. I will go back again, sooner now rather than later. After all, it is the place where I got my first kiss and the place where the past tangles with the present amid the fallen leaves and the blue jay cries.

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