By Cat Chapin-Bishop
There is just something about the light this time of year.
Of course, it helps that I live in New England, where the slanted light of autumn pours over leaves that are themselves turned gold. There are mornings and afternoons on my commute when it’s all I can do to watch the road. In hurried glances, I gulp down visions: pale fields of bleaching corn, mist that blankets meadows, and the way the sun burnishes all the leaves and the limbs of trees that hurry past my car.