I stroll swiftly through the crackling path. Birds chirp loudly in my ear as the wind gives burning cold kisses to my face. I notice arrow shaped waves in the sky no wonder why there's so much sound. I smell a scent like the green tree ornaments they put in cars but its cool so it doesn't make me sick. There's a thousand bodies of bark preventing me to see the dancing horizon as those limbs block the bright morning light with each slow stride I claim as mine. I fail to take silent steps the path just always seems to rustle. As my breath leaves i can taste the condensation in my wind surfing scarf. I stare ahead at the oldest oak and I'm startled for a second. That monster king of shade that I often searched for in the burning Texas Summer now just stands there blushing red dropping rough pieces of such a natural year creating a bright red-orange carpet underneath its barrel shaped trunk and over its claw-like roots.