When an autumn leaf meets a beautiful lake, art reaches beyond the unreachable places!

An autumn leaf is the corpse of that leaf and what a crazy thing that we love these corpses!

Listen . . .With faint dry sound,Like steps of passing ghosts,The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the treesAnd fall.

I am a leafOut of a thousand lines&There are no waiting eyesAt the foot of the time

Around my hands, my face and spirit, all leaves of summer, spring, winter and autumn were falling all of a sudden in a garden, where flowers could not touch clouds, as I have seen it, earlier than my age.

When autumn gusts blew in from the Rideau Lakes, parched brown leaves swirled and scattered around the sides of the neglected building, forming mounds like grave-markers, for ghosts of the past, who lingered on the dust-covered dance floor.

Leaves grow old gracefully, bring such joy in their last lingering days. How vibrant and bright is their final flurry of life.

Rebellious leavesgoing outin a blaze of glory,setting trees aflamein riotous color.Reluctant surrenderto rumorsof coming winter.

Then the trees, after their long silence, began to talk again, in yellow and red. And the days began to shrink under one's very eyes.

Autumn leaf waits for autumn wind to reach the unreachable places; wise mind waits for silence for the same reason!