It was cold yesterday, and so dark. I felt it deep in my marrow, the coming of winter. But the leaves, which were late in turning this year, have been spectacular, their brightness an echo of the sun that once powered them. I walked in the hills of the city and witnessed the indescribable beauty of the leaves as they fell, detaching from their tree homes and drifting to the ground, aloft for one brief, shining moment before their descent into decomposition.
They fell behind me as I walked; the noise they made was like the footsteps of ghosts.