The smell of wildness unique to things that sink their roots into the earth*
The leaves have finally turned but the season's strange. Dim colours, muted yellows and little of it flamboyant. It's as if nature has given up. But at the right moment, if you get close enough and atoms vibrate and sing, the risk of an explosion remains.
Beneath the leaves and against the rocks.
Flames unfurled and defiant.
* From The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (Haruki Murakami)
