Autumn

The wind billowing through the trees; the sound of the crisp autumn leaves rustling. The wind knocks them so effortlessly. So effortlessly, that one might say that they chose their own fate. Their own fall from the silhouettes that represent tall trunks and twisted branches. The silhouettes contrast the pink blemishing sun that burns the whipped clouds ablaze. They sit above the mountain peaks: glowing; as to match the color of the sun-kissed leaves.