Amongst the rest, there are still the small fall things that remind us that this is November, scene and site of disaster for many, and also month-before-winter, for the things that grow, those that cannot think and feel no guilt, and do what their genes and the length of days tell them. I think those are woodland asters, above: Aster cordifolius.
These leaves with flowers gone to seed perplexed me for a good half hour, until I saw the light on a mulched path a little later and barked, SOLIDAGO! Golden rod.
Earlier, I had rubbed the leaves between my fingers and had been transfixed by the strong and very attractive scent. A cross between camphor and something else resinous. I had no idea it was fragrant. I also do not know what species it is. There is a golden rod known commonly as "fragrant" - Solidago odora - and people say it smells like anise. I did not pick up fennelish tones, here. That golden rod was used by Native Americans in medicinal teas.
We came upon an enormous tree whose falling had felled, in turn, a neighboring and enormous osage orange. The fruit lay like marbles on the grass. Big, very heavy marbles. A stippled thunder in that night amidst the tossing and cracking and perilous bending of branches.
It's been a long time since I saw a real marble. I think they are beautiful.