Autumn

Clouds part their lips to gently blow their breath throughout the valley.

Wind whistles through the baron branches.

A rustle, a parting between old friends,

A drop of Gold begins his gentle cascade down.

Down through waves of red, amber, green;

A somber wave as he says goodbye to all he has known.

The frosty breath sends him soaring through the sky

Passing fields and trees, places he has only ever dreamt of.

Flying.

Truly flying.

Gliding, held high by the continuous breeze.

He can see everything from where he flies.

Or what he believes to be everything,

For how can there be more in the world than the palette of burnt orange, red and gold which lies below him?

There is surely nothing more beautiful in the universe.

The carrying breeze slows.

He can feel himself falling, losing speed.

The breeze sending him spinning in a whirlpool of frost,

Others being pulled from their homes and whirled around beside him.

He fears this is the end.

Then as suddenly as it began, the wind stops.

He drops.

Freefalling through the air, a single drop of gold in a whole world of colour.

He lands.

Gently, precisely.

He merges into a flurry of others.

They're all here.

All the colours he remembers.

New faces, the same feel.

He has a new home.