It’s November. And where I am (which is not where you are, I realize), it is warm and quiet outside.
The leaves, for the most part, have fallen from the trees and are resting on the forest floor while transforming themselves into something else.
The leaves in October have a crunch to them and they fly up when you walk through them. They still have energy and life, it seems, as though the leaves don’t need the trees to carry on living.