The Leaves Have Done Their Dance

The leaves have done their dance and settled on the ground, the brilliance of their foliage gone, all that's left is brown. Their corpses crisp and crusty cloaking the earth, fragrant and musty, at every home and hearth. The birds have flown south on migratory wings, no chickadees, house wrens or sparrow sings. It's silent with out their chorus, the harmonies gone, such stillness in the forest, especially at dawn. The trees stark and bare warn that winter is encroaching, soon to be blanketed in ice and snow, as the season is quickly approaching.