My name is Alexis; or, more commonly, Lex. My people call me when they need my special skills, or when they have something for me. Waiting for them during the week is incredibly boring, but this morining I didn't have to be called. The sound of boots coming down the stairs was enough to know that someone was going to the woods.

The car took us to a trail above Shore’s Lake. Hiking up toward White Rock mountain is always good, but this time of year it's something special. The stagnate summer air is blown away by that first crisp autumn morning and the trees respond with a vivid panarama. The hickories overhead are brilliant yellow against the clear blue sky. The dogwoods fill the under story with bright red, and the maples mix salmon into gold.

This year has been unusually dry. Leaves crunch underfoot and scare an armadillo into an awkward imitation of a run (could you run with armor plates from nose to tail – but if you were armor plated, why run?).

Smells along the trail tell a history of the place. This leaf, that rock, all have a story to tell about who was here and when, what they ate and which way they went.

There’s motion in the distance. Could it be a turkey - no, a pair of deer, moving silently across the forest floor. They make their living from these woods. Eating hickory nuts and acorns through the winter, raising a fawn, maybe two, next spring. They know the story of this landscape for they have been part of it for many generations. They are woven into its fabric.

We drop off the trail to the valley floor. Most of the creek is a river of boulders, but luckily, there are some pools where I get a drink. A trickle of water, welling up out of the rocks, fills this pool. Cool and clear, it goes underground again to fill the next pool, a few hundred yards downstream. This underground stream keeps the forest alive through the blazing days of summer, when these polished rocks would burn the soles of your feet.

As the sun touches the hilltop, cool air pours into the valley and a barred owl calls from the shadows. The smell of our campfire calls me, and then a fine rest after the day’s walk.