The Rustle of Autumn

The leaves descend in quiet rebellion, ochre fragments detaching from the canopy, drifting like unspoken memories against the damp, cold earth.

A sudden gust scatters the brittle remains, whispering through the hollowed branches that stretch like weary arms reaching for a pale, distant sun.

Beneath the intricate web of roots, the soil breathes a slow and heavy sigh, gathering the fallen into its dark embrace, preparing for the stillness of snow.