The trees dip gracefully towards one another, their limbs gently curving, merging together.
Like knitted wool, their peaks are thick beneath the watery sky.
Light drips through, like the cool November air seeps through a warm blanket.
Leaves, turned gold by the Summer's sun, dance to the ground, wrapping the land in a rusty shade of red.
Autumn.
The word is simple, beautifully entangled with the leaves' last dying breaths.
It carries reminders of restless hours spent staring out classroom windows, of new pencils, and clean white paper.
Autumn.
Its letters are infused with the lingering scent of apples soaked in cinnamon, evoking the sweet sorrow called nostalgia.
Autumn.
It melts on my tongue, warming me with an inexplicable longing to return,to indulge in memories.