The lush green grasses of the cattails have dried and snap in the breeze. Birds pick at the velvet heads of the cattails. Soon they too will bow to the approaching season. I am sad to see them go, but with their departure comes the arrival of winter. I eagerly await winter. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
Each year a little pixie named Midas flits through the mountains and turns all of the aspen trees into gold. Soon the leaves will fall to the ground and I will kick through them and laugh as they crunch beneath my feet. I still vividly remember running through freshly raked piles as a child. My father would always pretend to be angry but I think secretly he was jealous.