Autumn

It is that time of the year when the last meat is falling of the bones of the earth,

Not a particularly pretty time, but a time of great importance,

The sense of death lurks in the air, as the plants shrivel and die,

Some will regrow next year and some will never return,

I am from these days, between winter and fall,

I hear the whispers of the other creatures, of the beauty of winter,

The kindness of spring, the bright enthusiasm of summer,

But I have never seen them, I can not leave this season,

This season that shelters and traps me,

All I can do is find the beauty in the season around me,

And I have found that the most wonderful thing about this time,

Is the smell of the in chill air and the feel of the light wind on my face,

So I sit down among the scarlet leaves,

And close my eyes, and I feel the heavy silence of the woods,

Not happy, but not sad,

Solemn and quiet.