I ran into an old friend while out on the open road one fine October afternoon. In fact, it was much more than fine, it was a remarkably rare late fall afternoon, gloriously mild and brimming with sun-drenched vistas and gold-dipped landscapes. It was the kind of day when a warm breeze beckons from high hillocks dotted with pennants of shimmering orange and yellow bearing the standards of Autumn. Where the fragrant breath of a warm wind whispers enticing summons from the valleys and dales of a glowing countryside.

On that day, the last of the warm winds departed with sweet tidings and balmy farewells. Wafting through dappled groves of glistening amber verdure in a melodic swansong accompanied in serendipitous chorus by the swaying Birch, ash, and oak. The seasonal procession was passing through and its heralds of wood and stone and sky bid all who would listen to rejoice in harmony under its golden marquee.

It was indeed one of those rarest of days, a sublimely temperate and comfortable October paradox, saturated in rich crimson and zesty citrus hues. Nature, the quintessential artist commanded the easel that day...