The leaves are dancing from their respective trees, gliding elegantly through the air toward their demise. The oranges are rusty and the browns resemble fresh bark, ironic in the sense that this brown does not signify renewal, but instead its the last step in death. Ive always thought of autumn as the grand finale, the last show before everything is cold, hard and lifeless. The trees and shrubs that surround me are showing their most beautiful colors, coordinated and matching. These hues may not be the shocking greens and bright pinks of spring. There is nothing lively about this scene aside from the falling debris, the curtain call. Its amazing nonetheless, and I hope in my final hours, I can dance and sway just as awe-strikingly as this season.
I am not prepared for this winter. Winter calls for shelter and stability, two things which I sorely lack at this point in time. Im not looking forward to the dull colors and the biting cold. I can only hope