All The Months In Fall Extra Quality · No Ads

“They always blame me for the sadness,” November murmured.

And when the first snow whispered across the fields, the three months clasped hands and vanished—September back into waiting spring, October into the heart of memory, November into the cold hush of December’s doorstep.

The three months stood together, watching the forest shed its gold.

October burst from the woods, laughing. His cloak was patched with orange pumpkins and crimson vines, and his breath smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon. He spun in a circle, sending a whirlwind of scarlet and amber leaves into the air. “I bring the peak!” he shouted. “The cider pressing, the hayrides, the night when the veil grows thin. I bring the spook and the spark, the jack-o’-lantern’s grin, and the final, glorious riot of color before the trees let go.”