Scramblled egg forest like

It was still, so still. Forest suspended in the silence. The silence deep and wide as autumn's ending. I was listening to the Name of The Wind. There was no wind. No wind at all.

The weather was thick. Creamy thick. It seemed that you can actually grasp it, reach out with your hand and touch it, roll it between your fingers, put it on your palm. 

Everything felt soft. The ground covered with leaves, the forest moss, the lake, wet wood, even stones around the fire, black from smoke - looked like wrapped in velvet. 

I filled my lungs with heavy air. It sunk down in me and through me. I was grounded to the surface. No more summer lightness. Heavy, rich, mysterious autumn enveloped me, taking away careless long days. I felt like these golden leaves, shining brightly on the branches and shivering to fall within a second in to the dark unknown. Last golden days. I fear the winter.

Therefore the last occasion to camp, to wonder around in the forest, to make fire, to sit and joke with friends. Even a last jump into the soft cold lake water! And of course, forest like scrambled egg, with a handful of smoke and a pinch of ashes.