You can taste the freshness. The shift in warmth. The gray mornings. The world falling into a spectrum of colors.
There’s that touch of chill brushing my skin, lingering at my fingertips and nose. I can hear the hush tones of change, of coffee-stained evenings, of misty skies, and of early promises. Nature is attending to its course of life, for leaves to ablaze in colors, and for me to say, “I’m still alive” while they slowly succumb to their death.
I think this is one of those very rare instances, if not the only one, where dying is so beautiful. The flakes of sunset orange, gold, crimson, and burnt sienna give the elegance and beauty in the word fall.