They walked where the wind hummed,
where the earth still remembered the warmth of September.
Each leaf carried a memory —
of sunlight, of laughter, of days that did not want to end.

Then came the rain — soft, not sad,
as if heaven itself wanted to join their dance.
Drops shimmered like pearls on their edges,
and every falling leaf turned into light before it touched the ground.

They danced — not to survive,
but to celebrate the beauty of ending.
For endings, too, are sacred.

When the last golden leaf fell,
October smiled,
and whispered to the wind:
“Thank you for walking with me.”

And so the month closed its eyes,
wrapped in amber silence,
while November waited, patient and tender,
at the gate of time.

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