It isn't often we step outside and truly appreciate the beauty of the world. We often don't even feel a cool breeze and accept it as almost a blessing, opting instead for a coat or shelter. We protect ourselves from the outside, and watch from afar.

But from where I sit in a building, perfectly angled at the window, nature feels as if it is around me. Mist rolling in from unseen hills, just barely reaching out to touch the ground and just cold enough to snap me back to my senses. Trees, tall enough to look up to, but not enough to be intimidating, and yet, they still make one feel small on the second story of a building. Greens litter the branches, and at the start of autumn, the ground as well. One tree in particular is my favorite. Reds are dotted on the branches, free of leaves, for they have all fallen. But I am grateful for the visibility those branches provide. Small animals hard at work, working as I am, for survival. How the birds hover around branches, almost testing if the pencil thin branch would support them. I still sometimes see more previously unknown leaves leap from that tree. It truly is a favorite of mine. Early morning air strikes as I take my leave out of the building but to the next one. But the birds and animals don't mind. To be honest they don't even care. But in a strange similar way, they move from tree to tree, to look through the next window.

The forest is, and always has been a mysterious and mystical place. However this may change with the position of the sun or the phases of the moon.

In the day, when the sun is at it's highest, light peeks through the treetops and the air is warm and comforting. Wind greets all with a welcoming presence, the plants feel inviting, animals may hide or scurry away but it is all well in the kingdom of day. There is always a faint hum of life brought with the sun, and even any dangers seem calmed by it's soothing rays.

However when the night invades the kingdom, all things change. When the sun stops peering through trees, instead making way for the soft moonlight barely illuminating whatever path one may be taking, all becomes quiet. Oh so quiet. Too quiet to be peaceful. The kind of silence that makes it so every gust of chilling wind and every footstep of either human or creature is heard. Deafening silence. The harmless become threatening, the dangerous become deadly. And only the moon bears witness to the danger between the trees.

To wake up on a glorious golden day is something many can only dream of. To some, a golden day may be the gold of the sun or the warm glow of good company. To others, to some such as myself, a golden day is the shimmer of changing colors, from poppy red to marigold orange, and then the golden yellow of a buttercup. That is a glorious golden day. When the wind playfully dancing with the leaves, compelling some to leap from their branches. Even better when the rain decides she wishes to join the fun. She sings and the wind dances along. The trees and flowers are touched by the rain's song. Her voice is the jewel of the glorious golden day. Her song, so entrancing that some find the need to seek cover. They must hear her song only from a distance for fear of being compelled by it, like the song of hundreds of sirens. We seek cover so the wind and rain can enjoy their song and dance. It is a wondrous golden day. When the wind and rain finish their performance and leave together to who knows where, and the leaves and flowers are covered in thousands of jewels, glimmering and singing soft lullabies reminiscent of the rain who decorated them so. What a beautiful, golden day.