Song of Autumn

A cooling autumn breeze laden with the perfume of fallen leaves and forest earth; an earth of crumbly black that guards dame nature's hidden scheme. Tiny squirrels scamper thither and fro while below the forest villain slowly plods he wears his winter sleeping robe of cinnamon hue. This is a time when gross delusion falls in sleep anesthetized by autumn's chastening air for there are few who really hear this season's lyric song of quarter tones. And like the wild berry bush that never cares if anyone should taste its sumptuous fruit or if it goes to seed it is there for the patient and the unafraid.