Fall itself makes us think of something sad, withered.
This year, the fall is knocking on our door and brought baskets full of all sorts of fruit, but whit an owl brought the rain. These gloomy dots whose drops constantly banging into the gutters and inside me a strange feeling.

Heaven roam the thick, dark clouds that are ready to weep every time. Fog is pressed all around us. Fallen leaves are piling up, covering the streets like endless yellow carpet.  Once the green branches, were proud of their color and clothing, now they are barren and sad. Wizard wind woudn't give rest to fallen leaves,but it makes acrobatics with it.
Ripe and fallen off the fruits of chestnut rolling through the streets.

One hears only whispers withered, golden-yellow leaves and sad rustle yellowed and wilted grass through whose hair dragged the cool fall wind.