The leaves make no crunch beneath my feet. My steps are silent, deliberate and metered. I have to concentrate in order not to slip from the slick surface of the leaves and onto the sticks and acorns that pepper the ditch near the road.
A frog sings in the distance. Birds call and respond from tree tops, hidden from sight by the colorful leaves.
Webs, beaded with dew, take up space between branches and limbs.
On a branch, a wooly caterpillar crawls, slowly, steadily, brown and black stripes, undulating along.
Devoid of chlorophyll, displaying their true colors, leaves, red, yellow, burnt orange rain down from tree tops. I catch a few in the palm of my hand for later.