My breath came sharp and hard, it blew from my mouth and made little puffs into the air. The walk, as every Monday can be, was quite and lonely. I wrapped my shawl closer but the wind was more powerful. It sliced through my clothes, it escaped under my pant legs and into the entrance of my sleeves. My face burned as the chill froze on to my eyes, nose, and mouth. My hands silently cracked under the dry moister of the day. My pace quickened as I her a twig snap behind me.
It was the first third week of harvest. The men came home later, and later, even as the moon would rise in the sky. The morning though held little light. The sun buried under clouds of coolness. A blanket of fog rested on the tips of the trees and concealed the area in an eeriness of ways.
It was only foolish to walk such a path at night. In the morning, everything was fine. Yet, the back hairs of my neck raised high, and I was soon in a running pace. The trees in the fiery color danced on the sky. Bright oranges, dark reds and clammy yellows stole the day. They leaves fell all day long, yet by night there were still leave to fall for morning. Somedays the wind would blow hard, and sweep the leaves from every direction. Leaf storm, is what we called them. The Jack-o-lanterns rested on each doorstep. Some mean and ferocious while others were sweet and inviting. A distant howl, changed my thought from the use to days to the present ones. It didn’t help to hear my footsteps fast on the ground. Crouching below my shoes.
I turned a corner to find a dead end, my greatest fear began as the leaves started to move. The wind hurried them up and around. These leaf cycles were sharp and at a quick speed could hurt. I shielded my face as they came closer. The twig snapped once more, two hands grabbed me, pulled me from the cycle and the it was dark.