Scarlet not red, was the color of her petals

Caught was the eye of the gardener

As the wind ravaged the stately gathering

Real terror filled the gardener’s heart for her safety

Lest her beauty be lost in the storm

Even though removing her might be ruin as well

Time was not their ally

Remembrances of flowers past

Only haunted the gardener’s thoughts

Shall truth fade from this world’s day

Even now perhaps it is only in the mind’s eye

The air was crisp and fresh.

There was a sigh and shiver through the leaves.

All around was a rustling of gold, orange and red.

The wind was cool and sweet, the sky clear and blue.

Branches reached up into the endless abyss above.

Grey and white clouds floated idly by.

Swaying effortlessly, gracefully, stray leaves danced upon a breeze.

Ah, how Autumn puts a weary mind at ease.