Golden, gamboge leaves falling delicately from practically uncovered trees.
Lifting and falling in a quieted delicate breeze.
Gradually dropping to the delicate padded ground.
Murmuring and stirring a relieving sound.
Coppers, golds, and rusted tones, Natural force's method of giving up.
They fall and assemble individually, Harvest time is here, summer has gone. Crunching as I stroll through their warm, red hot gleam.
Nature's floor covering rich and unadulterated that again will develop.
To ensure and protect its superb tree, Standing tall and solid for the world to see. They rise and fall in the cool, fresh air. It's a period of progress in this world we share.
Nature's significance mirroring our own live.
Relinquishing our feelings of trepidation and once more, as well, we will flourish.