Walking along the still quiet streets, in the middle of the day.
With only my dog by my side I began to wonder what the fall of 1918 in France was like. Did the men ever get a chance just to sit and listen to the rustling of the leaves to feel the breeze upon their faces. I look upon my mind’s eye and I see flaming colors that are the hedge rows, the yellows, oranges and brilliant reds. Natures beauty must have abounded even in the carnage of war. Young lovers walking hand in hand enjoying  solitude perhaps for a few moments. Fall is like that, she wraps you in her colors, teases your nose with the scents of fallen leave and the passing summer and the approaching winter, sometime soft and mellow like the fallen leaves, often times the warmth of summer and thrown in ,at will, the chill of winter that will soon come to stay.

As I returned to this time, and I approached my drive, I looked at my watch and I have been gone an hour, how time seems to stand still in the solitude of the day.