The storm has passed, and now the trees are still
They stand in silent rows, their branches bare
The leaves have fallen, scattered by the gale
They form a carpet of red and gold and brown

The sun is low, and casts a golden light
It filters through the gaps between the trunks
It paints the trees with hues of warm and bright
It makes them glow like fire in the dusk

The wind is calm, and whispers in the air
It stirs the leaves, and makes them dance and swirl
It carries scents of earth and rain and fair
It fills the woods with life and joy and thrill

The trees are still, but they are not asleep
They dream of spring, and wait for winter's keep

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