In fall their rustle accompanies our every step. Leaves, symbol not of sadness, but of rebirth, catharsis, and embarkation for new horizons.

I am walking down a road lined with trees. It’s been a few days since the heat of summer touched my skin. I shiver slightly now in the first chill of autumn. The scrawny tree in front of me is bending left, then right, struggling to stand up to the harsh wind. The plane trees, oaks and alders have turned yellow and are shedding their leaves one by one. Can this be the poplar where I once took refuge from the summer sun? “Nature is dying”, I think to myself. “The sun is no longer going to show its face, evening will come early, cold weather will set in.” Yet is nature really dying? Or are we merely looking for a reason to feel wistful as we gaze on the autumn landscape?