crisp apple. autumn breeze. leaf piles. charred firewood.
what you can make out of the leaf-covered trail to the orchard seems to stretch on for miles. and that’s just the way you like it. with a nip in the air that’s just cool enough but not too cold, and steam gently rising from the slowly decaying piles of leaves on the trailside. this... is home. and for one month a year, you’ll breathe in every last breath that you can until the very last leaf has fallen from every single blazing red maple tree.