The fluttering leaves dance in the crisp air. Some twirl like tiny twirlies spun by invisible hands. Others land softly on the wet ground, leaving little splats behind. A leaf catches my boot and tries to stick there, but I shake it off into a pile next to me. The ground is cool underfoot, soft from all the leaves that have fallen. I watch as a squirrel scurries past, holding something shiny in its mouth—maybe an acorn or a nut. It disappears into a burrow, leaving behind more fluttering sounds and hints of autumn magic.