I saw ghosts that morning. I’m not talking about the kind in white sheets that say boo and make eerie noises. I’m talking about the spirits that belong to a place that still inhabit it – the visible remnants of the past.

It all happened while I was out taking photographs one a chilly fall day. I had decided to wake up at dawn that particular Saturday to take pictures of the sunrise on the north fork of New York’s eastern Long Island. It’s a countryside known for its lush wineries, colorful farms, and quiet beaches. It’s the place where I usually spend my summer weekends. Yet, with the crisp fall air coming in from the north, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try to capture some of the changing fall colors on film.

As it was way before sunrise that I embarked for my two-hour trip from New York City, I passed few cars on the streets on my way. With the summer crowds gone, a different emotion was in the air – sort of mournful feeling, at the loss of summer and the cold, short days to come. Though, there was also something in the air that suggested change and promise, perhaps brought on by the nippy fall winds.

Driving past an open field, ensconced in fog, the autumn sun emerged. I quickly parked my car and jumped out, camera in-hand, waiting for the sunrise. Whether or not it would offer great photographic opportunities, I couldn’t say. Yet, as I took in the emerging colors of the dew-laden land, I felt a remarkable sense of serenity and refreshment – something so antithetical to my routine of sitting in a city office all day.

Like a landing brigade, a flock of Canada geese flew in from above, awkwardly finding their landing spots on the grass. Swallowed up by the gossamer moisture in the air, they seemed to disappear one by one after touchdown. What was left of the flock was bobbing heads, seemingly disembodied, casting a spectral impression on the landscape.

Lulled into serenity by the geese, I was startled when my eye caught sight of an old man who silently strolled along the perimeter of the field with his aged black dog. The pair sauntered slowly in no particular rush to get back home. They took no notice of my rude, white car tarnishing the natural landscape and for a moment, I felt invisible. I wondered for how many years the duo walked across the field each morning. Perhaps one day, the field served as a playground for the dog. The geese were his quarry and he’d tug at his leash, eager to be released to run free after them. Now, the years have slowed him down, and the once-vigilant birds stand, well informed of his handicap.

Another gaggle of geese glided down from the sky, while a downy woodpecker zoomed past, flashing its striking black and white wings with speed. Marked by the bright red patch on the back of his neck, the male woodpecker landed abruptly in an old pear tree and got to work on breakfast. Hammering away, he chiseled through layer upon layer of bark, as if sending last minute Morse code warnings to the insects that he was about to consume.

The sun rose higher, illuminating the majestic pear tree with its golden rays. Standing tall, this living monument was only one of two vestiges of a working orchard. Perhaps the old man and his dog remember the warm, earthy farmhouse and rows of fruit trees in perfect lines. Maybe a little girl’s swing hung from this tree, or the shade of its bows provided the farmer relief from the sweltering summer sun. Or, the farmer’s wife wielded fresh tarts and pies from the pear tree’s bounty. She’d gather the pears after reaping fresh eggs from the chicken coop, after chasing an occasional fox from the hen house. The picture I imagined became so real that for a second, I thought I even saw the ghostlike form of a red fox emerge from behind the trees.

Wait a minute, it is a fox!

Unzipping my camera bag with trembling hands, I blindly reached for my telephoto lens in order to get a better view of the creature. As I watched her with a hawk-like gaze, the sunlight penetrated her fur, turning it a blazing orange. She licked her chops as she stared intently at the geese just a few hundred feet away. Would the animal go in for the kill?

My excitement must have been palatable. She spotted me. For a fleeting moment, her piercing amber eyes stared right into my camera. “Please don’t move,” I pleaded in a silent whisper. As the camera’s shutter clicked, my heart pounded in synchronicity. In the next instant, the animal charged into the woods and was swallowed up by the trees, leaving only an ethereal image behind.

With time, the colors of the dew-laden morning began to fade. The fog had been burned off, leaving a sun-bleached field behind. The pear trees looked gnarled and menacing in the harsh sunlight. Traffic on the nearby road picked up, whizzing past, their drivers ignorant of what natural beauty I saw here just hours before. They may never meet the spirits of the past that remain here, but I have. I’ll remember them.

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