"Autumn died in technicolor all around us. Bright yellows and red afire, burnished oranges and rusty greens painted the leaves that floated from the branches, collected in the grass. That vibrant odor of dying things, so particular to fall, creased the blades of air that cut through our clothing and made us tense our muscles and widen our eyes. Nowhere does death occur so spectacularly, so proudly, as it does in New England in October."
- p151; Gone, Baby, Gone; Dennis Lehaneileftmyhome.livejournal.com/