Save the saw-toothed leaves of the beeches, every last leaf is on the ground now. Large leaves and small leaves, red leaves and orange leaves and yellow leaves and brown leaves and spotted leaves. All have lost their lavish color and taken on some shade of December, gray or ash or brown.
Above the earth, the moon lights your way. The sky is brighter now, the stars brighter and closer and clearer, but the castanets of fallen leaves are the gift of winter. Hear how they give away the tiniest brown bird, how they reveal the quickest mouse or vole, sounding larger than it will ever be in life. Among the leaves they are all larger than life. Hear the way you yourself sound magnificent, how huge you become with every step on this leafy path, how you grow with every crunch and rustle, how you rise with every crackle and break.
Almost like you belong here.