Autumn’s POV
The lake is the finest of mirrors, never showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudged and broken. The weeping willow, the clouds above, all become a Monet – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day, but that's what makes it all the more precious. I can walk here every day and always it will be both different and the same.
The orange gold stretches far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines. It is but the reflection of the dawn, the promise of the rising sun that comes after the velvety night has had its say and the land has rested once more. With the setting sun came a sky of fire, the orange of every wintry hearth. It was the battle cry to the gathering night, that the only achievement of darkne
