All the leaves except late losers, except late losers like Oak tree, have fallen from trees such in the glory of bright yellow, orange, and brown. Now they litter the ground decomposing into the Earth of which they came. of which we all come. Their former glory gone in a soiled dark brown that somehow retains Fall charm by complimenting the grey of tree trunks it surrounds. Though not all are grey, some are a peeling white bark or the deep brown of maple. Within the fissures of the bark is the heart of the tree giving out oxygen and breathing life into a subliminally bare scene. Underneath the tree is grass dying back under the weight of its organic matter while plantain becomes numerous again albeit smaller.
The lake now reflects a dismissal rainy sky and blackened lillypads returning to its depths. Thunder consumes the world above them in the depths of evening as all decomposes back into soil of which it originated.