Spice smell of dead leaves;
The sun paints the trees yellow.
Chickens are clucking.

Burbling, whispering,
The stream races through the woods;
Where is it going?

The trees are naked;
Now deep woods are visible.
Still, there's mystery.

The marsh is still green;
Nearby, leaves float from the trees.
Two worlds, side by side.

Brightly glowing tree;
The sun illumines the leaves.
A breeze sprinkles them.

The leaves are sailing.
They float through the air like kites
And rest on the road.

The woods are silent;
Then a throbbing van passes:
Stench of tobacco.