The Winds of October
A humble tale of forging new paths within the foliage.
Softly a gentle breeze flits through the stifling air of an aging summer. As I walk the cracked path, it’s almost as if I can hear the faintest whisper of change. The greenery in the trees above betrays the slight chill that slowly penetrates the humidity around me. The skin on my arms perks up at the small sensation, and I can already feel autumn’s embrace calling.
Sliding into the season, the breeze becomes stronger. The t-shirts give way to jackets, and the path becomes littered with leaves, a mosaic of the world in beautiful transition. I hop from one to the other, wishing for each of its veiny magnificence to transport me to a place that would stay like this always. Time standing still amid an interlude that oscillates daily. A perfect dichotomy to lose oneself in and wade back into the flowing tones of orange, brown, and gold.
It is difficult to traverse the path now with fall in full force. The chill swirls around me, seeking to envelop me in its twisted delights and wicked splendors. The evenings encroach sooner and sooner, and the sun dims its rays as if to invite the darkness. I am not scared, I feel at home here, even as the wind beckons at my back. It pushes me forward, compelling my boots to hit the pavement with a fevered step. Whipping around it…
