The last of the most brilliant-colored leaves have fallen to the ground, leaving behind a set of deeper, purple hughes among the thinning branches and evergreen pines. A crunchy brown carpet announces my arrival, causing squirrels to scamper away with the last of their winter store and tiny birds to flit in and out of red berry-laden trees. Geese honk the last call for their journey south. The sweet scent of pine fills my nose as I walk underneath a low-lying bough, and my footsteps are suddenly muffled by the soft needles on the path. This is Indian summer, a brief respite from the first chills of autumn before the real frost sets in, which will soon shut us indoors for many months.
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