The hardwoods cry in color this time of year

As the sun sets an owls call from within the deep hollow can be heard clear

There is no path to follow, not one less traveled by, no direction to steer

Only dense undergrowth that provides shelter for the sly

The sly fox whose yellow eyes scan the forest floor waiting for the passer by

Leaves rattle as the wind arrives

The squirrels tucker away in their nests for the night and bid their goodbye