An impenetrable stillness lingers over the Marist Riverfront. Wind drives in low over the water, biting at bare skin and severing dead leaves from their branches.
When the cold thaws out, students and locals alike will assuredly flock here. It will become lively again, a hive for Frisbee-tossing and Instagram picture taking. But that is still months away.
Right now, the only sound is the echoing footsteps of Molly Gross, a sophomore at Marist.
“I come down here to run,” she says. “It’s really pretty right by the river. Even though it’s getting cold, I’d rather run out here than in the gym.”
After catching her breath in the cold, she turns and runs up through the tunnel and back towards campus. There, students are cramming and running down the lead in their number twos. Further still is Route 9, where street lights organize the commotion.
But, right here it is silent. Here, the stinging heart of fall is best experienced.