There is something just so spectacular about fall that makes Wisconsin unique. The trees compliment the cool, almost winter, sun. The reds, the oranges and yellows blend within the jagged leaves. The oaks are still lively except the outer branches where frost has coved them, like snow. The grass is slightly frozen white. Dead weeds Swede back and fourth in the cold, frosty air. You can see many geese, but they wont be staying much longer once winter strikes these grounds. As they fly to the north, the land seems to become bare. It sounds like a quiet day indoors. The wind still hums thew my ears like a peacefully song. I'll circle around the fields upon the tall weed grass. It is very damp. There are many berries and twigs and puddles scattered about. The Forrest is thick, covering the ground like a shield. There are gouges scraped against the dead wood. It seemed as if someone had taken an ax at them. You can smell the foliage dripping morning dew, the weeds pleasant scent of pine needles, the air is slightly thin. I put my thoughts aside; My thoughts are of him. I go on, running threw the feilds to ease the pain of distance. Now the winds have disappeared. The blue sky is covered by grey rain clouds. Rain drips across my skin.
