I can feel it coming. The air smells differently, very faintly, but it's still there. I look up to see an argumentative sky looming above me. Black and blue clouds swirl together, suddenly closing in the infinite sky. It might rain, or it might not; one can never tell for sure.
As the breeze kicks up, I grab my sweatshirt and tumble out the back door. My worn jeans and sneakers are perfect for the trek I'm about to take. The woods open, welcoming me back like and old friend. Instantly my nerves calm, and the tension dissipates like cool water running down my arms. Fall is here.
The trees glow with their own fiery light as the sun descends. Cicadas are noisily calling to one another, making it hard to hear the rushing brook just up ahead. Being early fall, the underbrush isn't dead enough to crunch under my feet. Instead, it quietly muffles my footsteps as I approach the gurgling brook. I spy a doe drinking daintily, peacefully. Freezing so I won't disturb her, I marvel at her silent beauty. And just like that, she darts away making me doubt whether I actually saw her or not.
I continue to creep further into the woods, feeling like a tress passer. I am but a guest, come to take pleasure in Mother Nature's finest season. There is no path to the destination that I seek, but I'm not lost. The cool breeze slithers through my shirt, caressing my skin. It carries the scent of a distant fire. It beckons and I follow. It brings me to the perfect tree. I climb up about 20 feet and find a niche between the trunk and branch. At last I can finally relax. Exhaling slowly, I take out my sketch book and try to capture this moment of rapture.
