Summer leaves; Autumn arrives.

The leaves dance effortlessly in the air, the fusion of art and nature. Of course, one could say that nature itself is art; plants, animals, colours, life.

Lacie admires the Fall; it is her favorite season. One may wonder how the Season of the Dying is her favorite; leaves die, plants die, animals whisk themselves into winter slumber. On the surface, there is no life, no reason to love.

Sometimes, peeling off the thin layers is what's needed.



She sits atop the highest hill she can find, her soft belly scraping the earth below. Her greys scan the mountainside from the holes of her polished black helm; one may think she's looking for something.

Truth be told, she isn't. She's simply observing.

Put away all your teeth,
And take us way underneath.
'Cause you could die if you take it alone.

The mountain is aflame.

Gold, red, orange, mixing, swirling, colliding; it is an inferno of colour, a - dare she say it - harmless fire, with more life than the blossoms of Spring.

There's something intense about watching the trees set themselves on fire; their leaves light up, falling, falling. And she watches it all, she watches the mountain come alive.



She takes in that sweet breath of crisp Autumn air, her mind cusping on the edge of euphoria; this is her high, her way of feeling alive. The wind carries the leaves, and she dances 'round and 'round, as the leaves swirl around her. She breathes again, the Autumn air chilling her lungs, hot with the breaths of an excited spectator;



Soon, the wind picks up, and even the sky is lit up, the leaves just barely touching the clouds.

Even nature has its limits.

The wind begins to die down, and the white doe rolls onto her back, her pupils still undialating themselves. The leaves fall towards the ground, embers from the fire. She's breathing though, her lungs starting to hurt as the cold air enters, no longer smothered by the frenzy of movement.



Here, in this moment, there is life.

Plants may die; animals may prepare for a long slumber.

But the trees and leaves, they don't just die; instead, they light themselves ablaze, providing a spectacle only the few can appreciate. It's the most beautiful of suicides; no gushing blood, no guttural groans, no ear shattering screams upon finding the deceased. It's simply a flurry of colour, a parting gift for the truly faithful.

Lacie knows this all too well.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.