Autumn. There is suddenly silence everywhere, and when my boots sink into fresh mud, whispers course inside me, thickly, like blood. These fill the trees also, so much so that they blush deeply, and their leaves turn into sacred hearts. They burn through the fog in the early mornings, and keep my hands warm when I collect them in my pockets. Birds round up their flocks, sprinkled silhouettes against voluptuous clouds; I wish them luck where they are going, but gladly fold up my own wings. It is time to stay warm with apples baked in brown sugar, and a cup of pomegranate tea. I kiss my friends with berry-stained lips, and stroke their hair with fuzzy mittens. Our coats smell like spices and firewood, when we enter the library to hoard up on books & movies for our cosy caves. Soon we will put on glittering masks in honour of transmutation; fiery spirits will consume us for their yearly night on earth, Persephone will sneak caresses before she vanishes for good. Autumn, sing your fantastic lullaby before sleep takes hold!