This is a portion of the downstream view from my deskside window. The photo was taken only a few minutes ago, just as a brisk drizzle began.
As you can see, the sky is gray and the leaves are wet; many are already on the ground—especially those from the five-strong clump of large sycamores in the upper left corner. A lot more are in the air, being blown about amid their descent, loosened by gusts which arrived along with the rain.
Two minutes before I made this shot, those sycamores still held maybe fifty percent of their oversized brownish-tan leaves. Now I'd guess no more that five percent remain attached to the lattice of branchlets.
The wooded streambanks are suddenly looking decidedly skeletal as the view opens. Even with the wooly gray overcast, there's a noticeable increase in illumination, as if nature had cranked the lighting rheostat a few notches to the right. A brighter dimness, if you will.
There are leaves out there yet to turn—though most of these never amount to much, colorwise…another week or so of yellowish-green and then various shades of brown—beige, sepia, umber, burnt sennia, caramel, chestnut—before they, too, give in to gravity and add their topping layer to the fresh carpeting. No, any bright color notes will be few and far between from here on out. Time flows on, just like the river.
Autumn's dazzling leaf show is beginning its end.