Autumn II

Hurray college english! This really reads like prose, not a story.

Fallen amber crushed beneath running feet, but it forgives. Minds awaken themselves for the coming renewal and they take an anxious breath. Children - us too - quiet themselves just before dusk as the sun glares peacefully beneath clear eyes. Life written in the present tense lives for the future.
We all value our own achievements most now, our determination ready to leap before time runs out and sleep takes over. Second chances begin here, each year, not to be wasted - although naturally some do die with the coming of snow, or just the darkening sense of such.
So we gaze around beautiful, deserted playgrounds.
Even the tourists hush between the long rows of fruited wood, their own eager smiles too pure to speak out. Those same fruits embrace our kitchens to lend us flavor for our tongues and our happy noses. Pleasant, heated aromas sneak about from timid grates and candles forgotten amidst the plainer seasons and a chair - our chair - rocks gently to the winds smooth, simple rhythm.
So we find comfort in a time of dying.
Quick car rides move in slow motion, though we go without spinning wheels. Sunrises last forever. What number of oppurtunities must dart past, alive and vivid to our suddenly seeing senses that we accept the passing of so many? Only joyous faces grip us, friendly hands throw our bodies and a calming October mist spits our way; a smile for every leaf lost, a smirk for a growing challenge on cool ground, next to the drive.
So we dream, too much good and too much undertaken.
Pile it up, pile it up, we've become invincible in our happiness, but still we pursue real goals.
Legs carry us, legs enthrall us; "drunk with love" never appears more literal. Suddenly conversation sparks admiration, hopeful hearts beating with childish excitement in a chest full of memories. Infatutation runs wild, but only for now. Soon a shuttering silence freezes over loving souls, closing out our venerable, open pride. Change stills and that soothing quiet hardens into a veil to protect our worrisome facades.
So we run, drenched in the crisp colors, atop fallen, forgiving amber. I present to you, autumn.