Maybe it’s because I live on a different street next to a state park and my house feels like it’s nestled in the woods in a corner of Framingham. The glorious orange oak leaves are stubbornly clinging to the tree in my front yard and my back yard is rimmed with pine and oak trees. But now I can see neighbors’ houses peeking through the trunks of the trees. This summer was oddly rainy and somehow I feel the rain affected the fall, although I haven’t lived here long enough to have become fully integrated into the seasonal changes. Maybe the oak has the perfect symmetry with New England: hardy, beautiful and durable.
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