Disclaimer.
Prologue
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In respect to autumn, romantic images of red leaves falling and turning from red to orange to yellow in a beautiful act of departure fill the minds of many. But really, most places don't get reds and oranges and yellows, they get browned and shriveled leaves covered with dirt and made soggy by the mud below.
The picturesque view of autumn so many hold in there mind is banished almost the moment one excitedly looks out their window in expectance and instead one almost thinks it is winter. That's just the way it usually is; but if one is willing to go the distance, there is always somewhere that has the beautiful colors of autumn and the nostalgic feeling of things that never really were.
Through the shriveled leaves, a shriveled old woman walks. Slow, sure steps take her through the leaves.
She's a pretty and old woman. Straight backed and petite with a fleck of youth in either eye, if she had anymore than those two flecks no one would call her an old woman but that's all she has and that's what she is. Her face is almost as white as her hair, and her hair is quite white, with so many wrinkles that it would be difficult to decide whether she had cried too much or laughed too much in life. Staring at her face though, one would hope that they were lines of bliss and not of worry.
She is over dressed for the weather as the elderly sometimes are; bundled up for winter in her winter coat and winter boots, gloves on either hand and a scarf round her neck. There is a scarf wrapped around her head too, covering her head so much that only a few strands of white hair can be seen. She's small but not delicate looking; she looks sturdy in spirit though her body is clearly letting out.
She is a woman often seen but rarely spoken to; she is the kind of woman that you see and sometimes wonder about, wondering whether she was pretty or not, or why she seems so alone, perhaps if she had a family or not and if she did does she still?
She's the kind of lady that makes you sad even when she smiles; because the years that have surly worn down her smile make you wonder why she must now smile alone. But there she is, walking alone steadily towards a placed where the leaves do indeed fall red and where if you are willing to walk a ways, there is a bench—perfect to sit on and enjoy the autumn colors from.