You say you're going to go places, and take pictures of them, remember them. You're going to write about them so that other people will see them too. But you don't, sometimes. Sometimes they just slip into the mess of an un-organized folder. And then you think of them later, and wonder where they are, because there's something important about them, in their own little way. Like the perfect Fall-ness of this fence in Pomfret.
Or this scene from Collinsville, a town that looks like a bit of the mountain West wedged into New England, except for the parts of it - like this building - that just look like New England.
Or this little cove in Wethersfield, which was tranquil, and tucked away at the dead end of a road.