The nights are getting cooler now.
You can feel it.
Maybe you dug out the thicker blanket.
Or pulled on socks before bed.
If your feet are cold at first...
rub them together once.
They'll warm up soon.
Outside, the wind is moving the trees.
You can hear the leaves...
scraping softly down the street.
Pull the covers up a little higher.
Right up to your shoulders.
Notice the cool air on your face.
And how warm it is underneath.
That's the best part of fall.
Cold outside.
Cozy in here.
For the next six minutes...
we'll take a slow walk in the woods.
You won't have to leave your bed.
Let your eyes close.
Let your breath find its own speed.
Think of a maple in October.
All summer, it held on tight.
Now its leaves let go.
Not all at once.
One here...
one there.
The doesn't tree fight it.
It knows it's that time.
Your day can loosen like that.
The drive home.
That email you meant to send.
Let one piece let go...
and drift down.
Then another.
No hurry.
Whatever you're still holding from work...
it can come down too.
It'll land somewhere soft.
Your shoulders loosen.
Your hands loosen.
Now picture a path through the woods.
Late afternoon.
The light low and golden.
You're wearing your softest sweater.
The one with the stretched-out cuffs.
The trees are every shade of fall.
Red maples.
Yellow birch.
Some still hanging on to green.
The path is covered in leaves.
Dry ones on top.
Damp and dark underneath.
Take one slow step.
Hear the crunch under your boot.
We'll walk with the breath.
One step in...
One step out.
Crunch...
and a soft rustle.
Another step in...
And out.
Your breath makes a little cloud.
It's that kind of cold.
The air smells like wood smoke.
Somebody nearby has a fire going.
A squirrel runs up a trunk.
Then stops, and watches you.
Then forgets about you.
A little farther on...
a wooden bridge over a dry creek bed.
Your steps sound hollow for a moment.
Then back to leaves.
The wind picks up for a moment.
The branches creak a little.
Then it settles down again.
Your steps are getting slower.
Your legs feel pleasantly tired.
Like you've walked a long way.
Up ahead, there's an old oak.
Wide and low.
A soft spot of moss at the bottom.
Sit down with your back to the trunk.
The bark is rough.
But the moss is soft.
Pull your sweater sleeves over your hands.
Leaves drift down around you.
Slowly.
Taking their time.
One lands on your knee.
You leave it there.
It's red, with a yellow stem.
Curled up at the edges.
Somewhere far off...
a dog barks once.
Then quiet again.
The light is fading now.
Gold turning to gray.
Your eyelids are heavy.
Your head leans back against the oak.
Breathing in...
And out...
The forest is getting dark.
And that's okay.
The leaves keep falling.
Settling over the path like a quilt.
You don't have to walk back.
You can stay right here.
Just the wind now.
And the warm quiet.
Goodnight.