The Taste of Autumn

 　　I stood by the window, listening to the autumn wind howling. Maple leaves drifted down from the trees, landing steadily, while some, lighter in weight, swayed in the air, reluctant to fall. Some lively children playfully swatted at the leaves, leaving behind only scattered remains.

　　A gentle breeze rippled across the water, causing it to tremble slightly. The leaves, falling into the water, spun and spun, unable to find their way, only able to drift on the pale blue surface. I longed to rescue them, but the water was too deep, and I dared not risk it, leaving them to face the difficulties and risks alone.

　　The migrating geese had already begun their journey, flying far away with the wind. Looking up, the lead goose's long cry echoed in the vast sky, lingering for a long time. Hearing this sound, a traveler far from home feels a surge of longing for their hometown, yearning to follow the migrating geese back north to their birthplace.

　　Without the vibrant bloom of spring, autumn is bleak and tasteless; as far as the eye can see, green is scarce, replaced by vast expanses of dazzling yellow. Even the once resilient flowers have gradually faded. I don't know where to begin; I only feel a sense of loneliness, a void in my heart…

　　A wisp of smoke rises slowly from the farmhouse, filling the air with a peaceful and serene atmosphere. I close my eyes, contemplating the essence of autumn.

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