Gray low-hanging clouds block the blue and sunshine. The air is warm, but the violent wind hisses this won’t last long. It rips leaves from high branches and sends them flying.
Down a hill and off the path, we swish our feet in fire-colored leaves already on the ground, ankle deep.
In fall, things morph–
night kidnaps morning,
owls spook from skeleton branches.
A walk in the woods makes you feel like you’re living a page in a mystery story. Continue reading