Tuesday. 8 a.m to 11. Traveling west along the Mohawk. Trees developing a definite rusty look. Leaves aren’t as vibrantly green as they were only last week. A few of the early turners, the ashes and poplars, have turned, some partially, some wholly, but they’re isolates and the sporadic flashes of buttery yellow they provide as I drive by aren’t enough to brighten a landscape that’s looking droopy and withered. No need to rush the season, though. October and peak leaf watching will be here soon enough. Meantime, there’s this to look at it. In the tops of some of the maples, patches of old rose pink and pale orange, shining with translucent color like stained glass in the early morning sun.