Leaves scatter upon the wind like multicolored butterflies.
Frost blankets the stubborn green grass.
My footsteps softly crunch the memories of summer, the whispers of spring.
The leaves speak of their lives as they fall. Stories of birdsong and storms weathered.
“Don’t be sad,” they touch my shoulders.
A brown leaf smiles up from the ground, “I am just pretending.”
“We are all just pretending, ” the brown leaf’s friends chorus.
“I too will pretend when my time comes. ” I reply and return the smile.
Stone memories of people gone watch me. I bow my head humbly at the leaves’ wisdom.