You miss the pristine waters of the stream, glittering in the last rays of sunlight. They go giggling between the eroded and smoothened pebbels that mark the banks and bottom of the lonely stream. You see the trees, dropping the load of light off of their heavy shoulders, letting the last thin threads of orange-yellow rays through their thin leaves.
You hear the rustling of the fallen leaves beneath you, their crunch almost delectable, yet guilt-inducing. You smell the air unpolluted, that which has never been contaminated with human breath for as long as the Maker left it untouched. There is a nostalgic loneliness in them, that makes you stop and open your heart out.
You want to drop on the carpet of autumn’s leaves as the breeze weaves through the woods. As the blooms end and the sunlight is now peeking over the horizon. It is looking back at you one last time, saying goodbye, before it disappears. Twilight follows. It consoles you, takes you in its bosom and cradles you to a sleep.
You close your eyes to the solitary rustling on leaves, as they shiver off of branches, or fly over your soul. Perhaps through you now, because you feel so invisible. You feel so free and yet more chained down than you ever were. You feel like the world is in your stride and you are in its.
You settle into slumber, and let the winds sing you the night’s final lullaby.
What they said.