The odd one always stands out; alone in the crowd like the dark storm cloud. It yearns inclusion; to belong, to connect to accord, to
Fall (season) in all its glory, humming the past summer story. Orange leaves, mud-laden roads, the smell of spiced pumpkin soup but the trees age,
A last glimpse of beauty, before it dries out. The snow covering the terrain, months of wait… before we see the seeds sprout. Happy Autumn
Do you love trees with golden leaves too? If yes, what word would you use to describe this pic?