The setting of the sun
The rustle of the leaves
The cool breeze lightly brushing my hair
Signified the coming of fall.

The mossy forest greens turned;
They turned into cherry apple reds,
The oranges a deep pumpkin,
The yellows a brassy gold.

The breeze whispered through the trees
Like girls sharing their secrets.
It rustled the leaves
And caused the tree branches to dance.

The chilly air greeted me bitterly
I yanked at my jacket,
I tightened my scarf,
I walked briskly.

The rolling mountains engulfed me
Made me feel minute
Like a tiny drop of water in a huge ocean.

The rays of the setting sun bore down
Gleaming its last beams of light on the trees,
Forming shadows that eerily danced among me.

I ran until I saw it,
My cabin
Sitting peacefully
Nestled in the valley.