Duality of Fall

A little something I wrote myself.


Duality of Fall

Fall, a strange season it is. Yet simply named as well. But aren't they all? A season of death and decay. The flowers wilt; their petals drift to the ground. Tree leaves follow suit. They expel their nutrients to their host, cut themself off and embrace death in a multitude of both color and number. The grass completes the circle. It's looses it's luster green. It becomes brittle. The rays of sunshine from above loose their warmth and a chill creeps in. The scent of rotting organic material floods a forest's floor. It no longer bears life, but becomes a grim reminder that nothing is truly immortal. Yet among this death and decay there is hope. Not all is lost. Despite the sun growing distant and cold, and life seemingly to end all around on self, more often than not, Fall is a favorite season. Bonfires burn in back yards. The mountains are said to be the most beautiful sight beheld to mankind, and humanity embraces one another for one last season before the hibernation of winter arrives. Despite the rotting vegetation, colder temperatures, and overall gloom, there is an overwhelming sense of unity and joy making Fall the strangest season of all.