Rural

The crunch of the gravel under my feet is the only sound that is let into the open air, other than that, silence surrounds everything like cotton wool. The sky is painted with dark blue like a paintbrush had just swooped across it with thick oil paint. The only thing to stand out against this canvas was the stream of birds that glide along in a single line, all following the leader at the front. Mimicking its every move, even when it dives down close enough to touch the tree top that Autumn had stripped bare. The last lonely leaf remains. Clinging on to the branch, showing its strength through the harsh wind, all that is left to show from the last season. The smell of damp ground invades my nostrils, leaving me to take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the pure air.