A carpet of dead leaves covers the ground, lit up by the bright morning light. The leaves glow in the warmth of the sun. There is a beauty in the dying.
Before we know it, the golden leaves will all be swept away. The winds of winter, even now, renew their strength. They blow our way from the north once again. Soon we will be scurrying to find shelter from the bone-chilling cold as Old Man Winter reaches out with his icy fingers.
And this will pass eventually. As Winter fades into Spring, the cycle will start once more. There will be renewal. All this will happen without a care for what you or I think, and without care for your or my presence… And so it goes.