Fall rides, fiery leaves

The golden path marks our parade. Kings and queens we are in this resplendent season. The bounty is rich; the treasures blazing and cold. A gust of wind sends the paper embers adrift, only to come to rest on the ground like forgotten confetti from a party that’s long gone by now down the path.

If you ride fast enough, you’ll feel only the breeze through the flames.

And when the frost comes, they’ll hang only like frozen, golden chandeliers.