THE THIRD SEASON
The prize pines at the perimeter of the wood have dropped their needles, carpeting the path with an ample amber cushion. A familiar aroma emitted from spilled sap, intense and intoxicating evokes in an olfactory system a false sense of security. Looming, the threat of precipitation drapes over the peninsula darkly, a silver-gray pall. Quivering from the rotation of an easterly flow the verdant canopy laced with an ochre glow, proof of a seasonal change and an autumn creeping toward winter, sends singularly chosen leaves fluttering like fairies to a new resting place on the floor of the wood.