Autumn

The fluttering leaves that were once so lush and green and captivating and sang in the breeze,

Now, they are gold,

Wispy flakes nestled in among the reds and oranges,

And their beauty guides me down the gravel, winding path I walk because if I can manage to reach the end without straying, I know I will become somebody.

Caked beneath the forest floor are flowers, dead and decayed,

Decomposing beneath the brown, bent leaves falling from above as smoothly as feathers.

They fall softly at the feet of towering trees, who have already begun to shut down and sleep.

Inside the hourglass the sand above slips into the opening, creating a stream, 

Steady always, calling the sun that now slides away far too soon, off to brighten other lands and make way for the moon. 

As we awaken too late to discover a surprise; a dusty layer of ice coats the crusty, sparkling grass.

The wind sighs impatiently, it has gained speed and become vicious--no longer breeze--

And it rustles the foliage, teasing and whipping at the trembling leaves, urging them to give in.

And, one by one... they let go.