Autumn has come here to Maine in full force- and it is a more chilly and damp autumn than last year. I walk the Downeast Sunrise Trail, often. My boots crush against wet clay and soil and stones. The forest brooding on either side of the trail is darker, colder.
The ground is a silent field thick with soggy moss and pine needles. The trees have all begun withdrawing their vital power into their roots, to go into their winter trances, and they have shed their leaves. The withdrawn vitality drains green out of the leaves, and makes them turn pale, yellow, gold, red, and orange… and then finally brown and brittle, as they fall to the wet dirt.
When the wind groans now, you know that the Lord of Dead Beings is real, and not far at all from your body and mind.
The Feast of Dreams 