The Whispering Trees.

The leaves were browning on the Autumn trees. I sat beneath them and listened to the sound in the breeze. They whispered softly of the months gone by, the birds that had nested in the branches up high. I heard them talk of the torrent of showers, they had gotten in spring and had lasted for hours. Or the warm bright summer, which lit up the day soon the cold frosty mornings, will keep hustle at bay. Shedding their memories with the leaves that were falling. Sleep would come soon as the winter was calling.