Some may see autumn as the season of death and decay, winter the results of her wrath, spring as the awakening of dormant nature, and summer the calm before the storm.
But I see fall as the season of life, the days when the cold is born.
There is life in the way that the hues of yellow, orange, and red blossom like a flower and spread like a wildfire across the landscape.
I see life in the way the once green grass uses the frost as a cape to hide itself beneath the icy winds.
There is beautiful, glorious life in the way the children stroll through the streets, life in their laughs as their mother feigns fear of the ghost that they embody in their white sheet with two windows to the outside world.
I see the life that one can bring to a pile of leaves if only they were to jump into it.
I see the life in the golden apples that are plucked from a tree to be baked into a fresh warm pie.
There must be life in the winds for they howl to the moon as they bring shivers to the skin.
There is life in the dry corn fields haunted by people waiting to scare unwitting travelers who stumble in their paths, just as there is life in their screams.
There is life to be seen only by those who thrive in the cold and scoff at the warmth of spring.
There is life to be felt by the witches, ghouls and black cats who prowl beneath the harvest moon.
There shall always be life in fall, for those who are willing to search for it.
Life is more than a shining sun, more than a tree full of green.
Life is what you see it as, life is what lives inside you and me. Life is more than the beginning and the middle, for life must always have an end.
There is life in the final chapters of a book, the very last sip of warm apple cider, and there is life in the end of itself.
There is life in the last treat before it's time to trick one's mind out of its Halloween frenzy and into the arms of sleep.
There is life in the final drop of summer rain before the clouds prepare to make snow.
There will be life even after there is not, because what would life be without an end?
But I see fall as the season of life, the days when the cold is born.
There is life in the way that the hues of yellow, orange, and red blossom like a flower and spread like a wildfire across the landscape.
I see life in the way the once green grass uses the frost as a cape to hide itself beneath the icy winds.
There is beautiful, glorious life in the way the children stroll through the streets, life in their laughs as their mother feigns fear of the ghost that they embody in their white sheet with two windows to the outside world.
I see the life that one can bring to a pile of leaves if only they were to jump into it.
I see the life in the golden apples that are plucked from a tree to be baked into a fresh warm pie.
There must be life in the winds for they howl to the moon as they bring shivers to the skin.
There is life in the dry corn fields haunted by people waiting to scare unwitting travelers who stumble in their paths, just as there is life in their screams.
There is life to be seen only by those who thrive in the cold and scoff at the warmth of spring.
There is life to be felt by the witches, ghouls and black cats who prowl beneath the harvest moon.
There shall always be life in fall, for those who are willing to search for it.
Life is more than a shining sun, more than a tree full of green.
Life is what you see it as, life is what lives inside you and me. Life is more than the beginning and the middle, for life must always have an end.
There is life in the final chapters of a book, the very last sip of warm apple cider, and there is life in the end of itself.
There is life in the last treat before it's time to trick one's mind out of its Halloween frenzy and into the arms of sleep.
There is life in the final drop of summer rain before the clouds prepare to make snow.
There will be life even after there is not, because what would life be without an end?
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