The Season of Fall

She felt her thinking surprisingly stimulated her with ease when taking in the scene’s bright autumnal serenity. It was possibly the bare bushes and the shrubs sparce of greenery, which predicted the ever-looming winter’s season. 
This finalising end to the prospering summer’s creations meant a break to manifestation, and as the murder had taken place just outside the grounds, which had been a bad omen indeed, it would not bear in fruition this winter. 
The cascaded sodden leaves and twigs that had fallen from thin withering branches foretold this lack to reason. The season of fall foretold that one’s wishes and dreams could not incubate into the soil during a rain spell or bloom into vibrant blossoms on a bright summer’s day. No sign of life could be found in such a hostile climate as though the present impermanence had always been eternally barren that way. A place where one could rest forever, and therefore, nothing in existence could imply change of any kind because no seed had ever been sown. How can one actively murder and hope the deed would incubate and flourish into the world where it would be discovered? But bad deeds certainly came to Renton, and thereby perhaps foretelling seeds had been planted after all. But if not imbedded and prospered in the deadened unfertile earth, then what was the vivacious agency behind the murderous happenings? No, Cecilia’s involvement with the murder must bear fruitless. There will be no reason to repent or own up to it in any way. Its happenings manifested in a dead world when the act was committed and so remains rotten now as its surrounding had foretold. And yet, she suddenly felt an urge of prospering abundance, as she came across some little pinecones and acorns on the ground. Feeling uncannily invigorated, she began to pick some up while careful to avoid the soft and rotten ones that had been smudged with damp earth. To find solace and meaning amongst nothing was a testament in one’s life indeed.