ALT Beast An exasperated gust stirs up gilded mist that smells of frost. The diaphanous curtain reveals the aspen tree behind the house. One single, yellow leaf is playing truth or dare on hardwood. It's shaking in the cold morning air, high above wet foliage which is spread over the rear access road like fallen casualties. Fungi did not need an invitation to feast on the dead. The Autumn breeze quietly stretches out sticky fingers for the gold that has beens stripped off chlorophyll's complexity. A transitory treasure. But not yet ... not yet! Vintage calamities do not strike suddenly, but they are loyal, no doubt. Another gust moves in like an oblivious catspaw. A gilded flicker passes by my window right before the rain sets in. As I look back up the aspen tree, I cannot find the leaf anymore. © Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree