The yellows, reds and oranges mix into a palette of warm brilliance
in a chilling breeze. The smell of dying foliage and decaying acorns
abound. The sound of brittle leaves crunching underfoot. The animals
scurrying to pack away for a winters retreat. The final majestic
pathway of nature before it falls to the ground to become the fertile
earth of rebirth. This is my home. This is my soul. This is my heart.
It is my place of solitude and rejuvenation. How very ironic that
what I find most beautiful is that which is the prelude for death.