Among the rustling leaves, an ancient melody lingers, woven with threads of ash and twilight. Each note a whisper from the past, a longing for the warmth that November steals away.
"Do you remember," the wind hums softly, "the laughter that danced along these paths?" But now, the winds bear only tales of shadowed faces and hollow eyes, watching from the veils of dusk.
In the heart of the fading light, a solitary crow caws, breaking the spell of autumn's shroud. Its song, a dirge for those who wander lost in dreams of yesterday's sunlit glow.
A recurring hymn of cicadas cries unheeded, their voices drowned in the somber symphony of fading day. Echoes of a time when living was less a memory and more a promise of tomorrow.