All the months of fall—September, October, and November—gathered one last time before winter’s chill swept the land. They met at the edge of the old maple forest, where the leaves had already begun their slow, fiery transformation.
The three months stood together, watching the forest shed its gold. all the months in fall
September arrived first, smelling of fresh pencils and ripe apples. She carried a basket of goldenrod and the first cool breeze off the mountains. Her hair was the color of wheat, and her footsteps left behind a gentle crispness in the air. “I bring the beginning,” she said softly, touching the tips of the maples. “The slow goodbye to summer. The first day of school. The harvest moon rising like a copper coin.” September arrived first, smelling of fresh pencils and
That night, they walked through the woods, each in turn. September brushed the green leaves into yellow. October set them ablaze with red and orange. November gently tugged them free, letting them spiral down into soft piles on the earth. “I bring the beginning,” she said softly, touching
October draped an arm around her. “Without your stillness, no one would notice my fire.”