Autumnalis

Leaves of gold and brown. Of yellow and orange. Bright pops of color in a world getting ready to sleep. With a laugh like popping wood and swirls of mischief he streaks about. Above him rests Nebulous. Ancient and sleeping. He misses the birth of the first. Autumn has come to life. Autumnalis spirals up, up, up into the sky dragging warm air with him. He is lone here. Spring, Winter and Summer not yet come. He does not despair. Too young yet to know what Nebulous knows, that time is a construct of the mortals. He plays with them. Bringing warmth to those who were once cool and cool to those that were once hot. His songs are bright tenor that mingles with the birds heading south. He is autumn; mischief and joy, he is alive.