Remnants of autumn’s golden beauty cling to dull gray branches.
Battered by the howling Huron wind, one last dance whirls them down to a final resting place.
Whitecaps shatter the boulder-laden shore, leaving frothy trails upon the sand.
The blue waters of Huron change hue with each passing cloud that blows across the stormy sky.
Boulders blanketed in bright green moss strike out against the barren wasteland that we are left with.
Alas, a brisk chill sweeps into my heart, for I know November delivers an icy winter upon his shoulders.