At its southernmost, the road to Buffalo this morning was bright with autumn foliage; sun filtering through thin clouds made the oranges, reds, and yellows sing. But as we traveled north, the journey seemed to somber as the day grayed and the leaves browned and then disappeared all together.
Perhaps contributing to the mournful mood was the abundance of roadkill: we passed at least a dozen dead deer, five foxes, plenty of porcupine, several skunks, and two turkeys. Each one made me sad for the life lost, but it was probably the two dead bears that cast the most profound pall on our progress: I'd never seen such carnage.
Night had just fallen as we pulled into the driveway of Heidi's parents' house, and I was relieved to be off the road and here at last.
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