Creative Hall

In the evening of a dreary November, the clouds enshrouded the heavens above with a weary gray that plagued the sunless skies and the horizon beyond. Sere leaves in shades of dull and worn amber drifted aimlessly in the chilling breeze, fallen from their trees that grew ever tired in the passing autumn, covering the ground as their ghastly graveyard. The ghostly mist shrouded the woods, smothering the trees into lifeless blurred silhouettes. I walked deep into the woods, below the shedding canopies, hearing the crunching of leaves that rested peacefully on the ground with every step I took.