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And it's carved into a hunk of wood, hung on an old, sun-bleached wooden gate.

Far in the distance, forested mountains are covered in a blanket of autumn's favourite colours.

The land where you are now is much flatter though, ideal for growing pumpkins.

The skyline is a gentle blue, scattered with fluffy, pillowy clouds.

Looking down, you spot a perfect maple leaf, dropped here by the red and yellow tree,

looming next to you. You bend down and carefully pick it up by its stem.

Then, you hold the leaf up to the sun's soft light and admire the precision of its form.

Unlike the other leaves around it, this one is still firm, but not yet crisp, retaining some

moisture from its life on the tree. It seems too beautiful to let go, you think,

so you carefully put it into your satchel as a keepsake.

As you walk towards the gate, a gentle breeze blows past you.

You can feel it through the fabric of your top, so you pull your thin wall scarf a little tighter

around you to stay warm. The gate is secured with a metal closure.

You slide your thumb under it and raise it gently. It rattles and creaks, showing its age.

The gate has probably been standing here on this farm for decades, you think.

You pull the latch down to close it behind you. As you turn around, the warmer

aroma of ripe pumpkins and sweet crisp apples fills your nose.

...