Old forest smells
dead leaves
mist.
A rain of yellows, reds and oranges
Falling to the Earth
Moss creeping,
creeping ever so slowly,
Up tree trunks to catch a glimpse at the suns fleeting
rays.
Brook bubbling gently,
ever so gently along the rocks, wearing them down creating new stone identities.
Soft sunlight lingers long enough to light the way home until the pale
glow of moonlight takes up the unceasing burden.