Having walked up the mountain and down into town, I've noticed that rust set in, and water in the lake--placid and clear, now that most tourists are gone--felt wetsuit-cold.
Autumn in this part of the Rockies is likely known for the luminous yellows of the tamarack trees, best visible when you're playing Zarathustra on top of the world. Excluding rowan berries, what it lacks is red. This makes the American Northwest quite modest in comparison to various parts of Japan, where you get to witness what seems like every shade of the color spectrum.
Soon, even gardens here will be drained of color.
And just like in the song, as Nature prepares for a Deeper Kind of Slumber, everything will become more muted until the only bright hue remaining will be that of my finger nails.