november...

Gray skies fill my peripheral.
The trees seem to have lost their child-like essence.
Everything is preparing for a deep slumber, things are moving slower.
The way the air feels is damp. Cool, as the fog hovers above the river, sweeping slow over the grass.
The grass that once was green has become littered with brown, wet leaves.
Slowly returning to it's roots.
I feel unsettled, as if something is going to happen.
But what, I don't know. The clouds promise snow.
The wind promises change.
Nightfall is so quick to come, but it does so like a stealth, without warning.
But there is no light coming from the moon with these November skies.
November is almost over. It is the month that signifies death, but at the same time, it promises rebirth.
The cycle will continue.