October Bygone

I dream of forests thick with tall trees, dense with vegetation. Leaves turning red as the nights are getting colder. Seasons will change. The scent of wood smoke drifts among the branches. A rutted road carved by the passage of wagons heads easterly. My skirt sweeps a carpet of fallen leaves as I head for home. The setting sun leaves behind an orange sky dappled with dark blue clouds. October is the month of longing for days gone by.