Novel & Cerita Haiku On Autumn

The autumn air hung heavy that evening, the kind of chill that seeped into one’s bones and left behind the feeling of something unfinished, something unsaid. Adrian sat alone on the wooden bench in the park, his knees pulled up slightly, fingers gripping the edge of his coat. The world around him looked muted—the golds and reds of fallen leaves now darkened by damp soil, the laughter of children distant as they were pulled home by parents for dinner. And yet, inside Adrian’s chest, everything was a storm.

Moon Chasm, however, still had patchy grass and the odd brown leaf swinging in the breeze. As I watched, one such leaf fell. It twirled to the ground, a ballerina spinning in slow motion, before it fell onto our side of the line and drifted across the snow. Something about the sight of it made me shiver. It looked not like rebirth, as I’d always taken autumn to mean, but like death. ‘You’re so morbid these days,’ complained Tiger. ‘I think I have good reason to be.’ Before she could counter that, I saw him.

My thoughts raced as I waited, watching the clock tick by. It was the autumn season. The cool breeze rustled through the trees, sending a cascade of red, orange, and yellow leaves fluttering down to the ground. The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, casting a warm glow over the landscape. It was autumn, and the world was a riot of color. As far as my eye could see, the trees were ablaze with fiery hues, their branches stretching out in all directions. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the scents of wood smoke and pine needles.

I hate days like this. It’s terribly cold outside, and it gets dark much faster. Some people say that autumn is beautiful. Leaves fall from the trees, covering the damp earth with a rainbow quilt. However, for me, autumn is associated with only one thing - death. Plants die, and animals hide in tight corners, peacefully falling asleep. They probably don’t feel like watching everything around them slowly fade away. I envy them, I would like to close my eyes and not have to worry about anything too. Rain runs down my face. Water drips from strands of long blond hair, joining their companions. Together they flow down the paths, washing away all the dirt. Raindrops are never alone, there are bil

Lisa was sitting lifelessly on her seat, looking out of the window. It was the month of october, the true starts of the month of fall. The leaves dance from branch to ground, each a colorful flag without any strings or pole, free to roam. People feel the breeze, rich with the aroma of the earth, the keeper of the seeds, for the springtime to come. There is calmness, as if all the gold, berry-reds and brown that flutter about is a cozy quilt, bringing everyone the same piece as the night time.

The sweet aroma of decaying foliage and wildflowers still clinging to life before the weather shifts to winter fills me as I sniff the air and let it calm me. The harvest moon bathes the forest in a soft, ethereal glow. The deep hues of blue, gray, and black mix in a perfect combination, both illuminated under and softened by the moon’s light. The dark colors of the Autumn night sky offer shadows that seem to dance with swaying tree branches with sparse leaves still holding on for dear life. Crickets chirp steadily in the otherwise stillness of the night. Occasional owl hoots off in the distance seemingly harmonize with the crickets along with wind whistling through tree branches.

Yet that's the thing about growth, it is only when we compare with a sense of the months and years past that we see such amazing changes. Another Ontario autumn has come, the trees stand coated with so many colours. The brick path is strewn with acorns as if by divine artistic hand. The ducks waddle from acorn to acorn, gobbling at them, crushing them in their bills. The days are waning, the heat of summer making way for a new chill wind.

There were great bulbs strung across the meadow, too, it seemed, but as quickly as they’d come on, they shut off again. The sheer volume of pumpkins was what made the display so impressive. They were stacked in rusted wheelbarrows, piled straight onto the ground, and they lined the hedges and gateway, as well as marking out the pathways beside the solar lamps. Some had been adorned in little outfits, too, whilst others had been painted in natural-looking colours: clay reds, terracotta browns, and coal blacks. I wished that the lights would come back on, so that I could see the colours more clearly. Skye gave a shy, half-shrug. “This is one of my favourite parts of living in Hawthorn – it has

In this world, you were alive and well, new appearance but the same consciousness. It begins with an old poem. Which goes like this: •10 Birds flew upon a gallows tree with no Leaves. As they glanced at a haven with no Angels to seize.• •∆° Ever wondered about the leaves that fell from those Autumn trees. As they tried to hold onto the twigs whilst still floating in the air with the need to surpass the force of gravity, falling swiftly to the ground. Just to Find those yester-week leaves laying still as if awaiting trial. Until they lost hope and eventually grew pale for they were once green. Where did they head to? for a week later 20 of them are missing some replaced by others who'd forgon

The stone pathway guides the traveler deeper into the hidden wonder within. The autumn wildflowers sway in the cool breeze, a sea of reds, yellows and purples. Bees and butterflies feast on the nectar, as birds forage on seed heads and berries. Their activity provides a vibrant burst of life before winter's slumber. The garden receives little sunlight in the autumn, as the sun stays lower in the sky. Rays of golden light peek through the dense canopy of trees, dappling the plants below. Shadows lengthen and a chill settles in, as daylight shortens each passing day.