Luscious dark greens flushed by the decay of russet reds, the season was the scene in which life was the center. The terrain, abundant, preceded at a pace that laid. Time hinted, autumn leaves were soon to be done as they proceeded onward to their homage. Unlike the timid ways of night’s falling stars. They knew, a blanket was needed for the dampened ground whose moist heat concerned a body. A gardener who sat for many reasons, had wished for the presence of the falling foilage for countless seasons. His vision blurred, thick like a faded film the clear aura blessed. It was clear that the golden blanket upon the ground resembled fleece. They felt naive. The florid essence, and winter’s musk had intoxicated reason. For he began to wander, and to ponder about seeds, bees, and his daily cup of tea. Deep as dusk, hours ticked tween the winter’s petals that blew. The fleece, now bright as snow, with little haste concieved crystalline dew. The flakes mimicked foilage. Droplets of night, whose light took flight. A future Spring is said to renew. Lucious are the dark greens flushed once by rays, that is now is a pale, winter, blanket’s bare hue.
FYI: I went through more than a month worth of writer's block.