The Autumn

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I love the autumn time. 
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It was a grey sort of day. The sun was a pale disc in the sky, the fog rolling over its surface, dappling it and obscuring it from view. The fog hung over the ground too, a light jacket hugging the dewy grass. The trees formed an archway of gold and brown, the leaves falling now and again without a sound, and with no wind to disturb their fall, they floated down in a lazy spiral. The leaves that lined the path already weren't as crisp as they once were, the damp air softening them, and several had been trodden into the path, freckling it in varying shades of orange.
She exhaled slowly in the cold, her breath condensing into a tiny cloud and floating up into the fog. It was a scarf day, for the first time that year, which was an exciting occasion. Her favourite was bright green, a colour that almost seemed out of place among the brown monochrome of the trees. The morning was brisk for a walk, the sun still hanging low in the sky. She enjoyed watching the changing seasons along the path, though autumn was by far her favourite. She smiled softly as she looked up into the trees to see the dying leaves blend into the branches on a background of watery grey. It would rain later. It was that sort of a day, perfect for looking out of the window to see the lines of rain beat the glass, and curling up into bed with a cup of tea and a book.
That was what she enjoyed about autumn. It was a reason to find all the warm coats of winter, but not too cold to stop a long, morning walk from being unbearably freezing. Autumn was chilly at worst. Chilly enough for scarves and hats and thick, fluffy socks, and for the cold to nip softly at your nose and leave it red, but not bitter enough to need to wear more layers than was fun. And then there were the magical qualities of autumn: the misty breath, the spooky stories, the clear, starry nights. She could be a pixie in the woods, or a dragon blowing smoke, or an astronaut looking far out into the reaches of the galaxy and knowing that the light of the stars would guide her home. The autumn always could provide a story, one that changed from day to day, but always ended the same: cold and clear and dark into the winter nights.
Category:Leopardclaw's Stuff
Category:Original Stories