in Thoreau’s Journal:

A white frost this morning, lasting late into the day. This has settled the accounts of many plants which lingered still.

What with the rains & frosts & winds the leaves have fairly fallen now— You may say the fall has ended. Those which still hang on the trees are withered & dry —  I am surprised at the change since last Sunday — Looking at the distant woods I perceive that there is no yellow nor scarlet there now— They are (except the evergreens) a mere dull dry red— The autumnal tints are gone.   What life remains is merely at the foot of the leafstalk.  The woods have for the most part acquired their winter aspect— And coarse rustling light colored withered grasses skirt the river & the woodside— This is November— The landscape prepared for winter without snow— When the forest & fields put on their sober winter hue. We begin to look more to the sunset for color & variety.

Now now is the time to look at the buds the swamp pink—some yellowish, some mixed with thin oblong seed-vessels red—&c.  The larger red maple buds have now 2 sets of scales—3 in each. The water Andromeda is still green— Along the Depot Brook the great heads of A. Puniceus stand dry & fuzzy & singularly white (—like the golden rods & other asters—) but some quite low are still green & in flower

The prevalence of this light dry Color perhaps characterizes November—that of whitening withered grass—of the fuzzy gray goldenrods—harmonizing with the cold sunlight—and that of the leaves which still hang on deciduous trees.