Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

The last dead leaves of fall crackled underfoot, winter-crisp.

We should wait six-seven months. Maybe, upon spring's arrival, our love would blossom. As of now, dry-lifeless-forlorn, it resembles the fall foliage. Beautiful, nonetheless!
#BeyondAutumn

I guess I'm just feeling Septemberish," sighed Chester. "It's getting towards autumn now. And it's so pretty up in Connecticut. All the trees change color. The days get very clear―with a little smoke on the horizon from burning leaves. Pumpkins begin to come out.

Halloween creatures both friendly & gruesome peered out of the rustling leaves.

Wind warns November’s done with. The blown leaves make bat-shapes, Web-winged and furious.