I've been in 46 of the 50 states, and each has its wonders. Grand Canyon, Teton, Big Sur, they inspire, awe and humble, but they do not dust an onlooker with the poignant sweetness Henry Adams experienced in his long ago Maryland autumn. Toward the end of our hike, my classmate, Linda, stopped to take a picture of the Gunpowder. "Look," she said, "look at that." And, there on the river, silver sunlight shimmered and danced in a grand display of dabbled abandon. What a gift to these old city eyes.