I just flew into Pittsburgh for a conference and was just struck by the beauty of the landscape stretched before me from the airplane window. I didn’t have a camera, so unable to take a picture, I jotted down my impressions (edited now for flow and readability).
The sky is gray, the air crisp and still. Rolling green hills peak through forests of golden trees, in shades of orange, brown, and yellow. Scattered with those golden trees are barren trunks, already in hibernation for the winter. In stark contrast, small groves of evergreens keep their color, defying the overwhelming autumn hues. Valleys cut around the hills, but gently, with no drastic or abrupt gorges. Clusters of houses huddle amongst those trees, in clearings big and small. Small villages and towns snake along the valleys, conforming with the contours of the land, not defying or challenging them. Occasionally, an old abandoned and ruined house lies forgotten, isolated in a clearing of its own. Down the river float barges, laden with tons of pitch black coal. Nearby there are open pits and piles of the stuff, in stark contrast to the greens and golds. A random smoke stack, remaining from the glorious steel days, punctures the horizon, billowing thick white smoke that then slowly drifts and spreads across the sky.
This is the embodiment of fall.