Swiftcurrent Creek Pulcinella

Crawling forward with careful little ant-steps, Cygnet stepped out into the hazy, tepid morning. Mist left a sparkling coat of sheer gloss on the leaves which donned an amber hue as the days grew shorter. Blinking her eyes, she noted the changes which to her, seemed ominous. Every morning the chill in the air grew, and the glistening of mist threatened to turn to the silver of frost. Something about the cold reminded her of her earliest moments of life- moments she recalled every day, mindfully, so she might not forget them. 

A leaf fell near her, golden to its very core. It had been early to bud, perhaps, but now fell before the others of its kind. Cygnet moved to sniff it, and something about its dry, musty smell triggered a feeling of nostalgia.