I sometimes don't understand why so many people favour the summer. Never was
I enthusiastic about a hot, sunny day.Give me a cool, crisp, cloudy day and I'm
jumping for joy. Walking down a yellow-tree path, listening to the wind racing over
the river. Overhead, winged-mammals fly south inless than co-ordinate
formations. This is where I am home. Autumn.
My family often speaks of how sad autumn is; to slowly watch the trees bare their
branches. To watch the colour leech from the plants and the sky.
I couldn't ask for a more lively season.
When people speak of trees and grass, they visualize an image of green. Red,
yellow, orange, brown. These are the colours of warmth and life.
'Tis in my home can nature show it's reasl heart and soul.
My home is the time where friends and family can give thanks to each other.
When they can open up and gaze upon things they only ever glanced at.
Autumn is also the hour of adrenaline. Your senses are on high alert in the chilly
air and dim shadows. Night is always quick on your heels in a thrilling chase.
Ghouls and demons are at your front door, shouting to within; they're demanding
something from you.
Though life is everywhere, there is a sadness that strikes to the core. In my home,
a worldwide silence is heard for a single minute. Our minds flash to a time of
death and despair. A time where the warm colours of fall did not show life, but
death, murder and fallen blood.
Autumn. My home is so welcoming. It houses so many. Always moving, my home,
never stays with me for long. It goes away and I'm left with a cold, white world. I
await for my jome to trace it's...