My eyes see planted fields ripe to harvest. Fall rows of corn an cotton glisten on a frosty southern morning. As I walk, I hear echos of past and sweet memories. Familiar shadows are cast by timeless beauty that does not change, held in the colored trees of Autumn. I hear the sounds of memories that are echoed in creeks and streams where as a young boy I found joy playing childish games. The spirits of the waters are too wild to tame. As I walk the old paths of childhood, I see these things in memories that bring Autumn's song back to me