Gravel Trail

Spring and Fall — Fall. Yellow and brick red leaves cling, trembling, to the trees. A gust of crisp wind, and a few are dislodged and scatter to the ground to join the ones that crackle under my feet. It is ten a.m. in New Zealand, and the grass is still coated with dew.  My tennis shoes leave shiny prints on the lawn, ending where I head across the gravel trail. I hear each step, register the crunch of the tiny rocks crushed and spat out from my feet. The air is chilly here in the North Island, twenty degrees or so cooler than... [Tags: clouds, crunch, grass, gravel trail, gust]