I pulled my jacket closer to my chin. The fall air felt crisp, even though the sun shone faithfully in the eastern sky. I rounded the curve by the massive sugar maple, its glorious shades of crimson now transitioning to brown — broken pieces of former glory.
While pondering the tree’s recent beauty, I heard a crackling sound at my feet. A multitude of brown, brittle leaves hurried across the road in front of me, ushered by a brisk wind, the crackling pronounced.
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