I feel the fresh cold air in my lungs,

and I know I am home.

Fallen leaves race across the ground,

rushing under my feet.

The crisp air on my tongue reminds me of

pumpkin spice lattes.

The way the calm wind flows through my hair

is like an orange flame rushing passed me smoothly.

The sight of the changing trees

feels like the warmth of Grandma’s bedtime stories.

Finally, I breathe again.

The smell of the leaves change color from

yellow to

red and

orange and

brown.

The piercing sun pokes out from behind the clouds and stings my eyes.

Picking out pumpkins,

I feel it’s imperfections under my fingers.

The falling leaves dance,

showing freedom and happiness.

I feel the fresh cold air in my lungs,

and I know I am at home.