All of a sudden, the leaves crunch under my feet, oak and maple, turning and colorful. Black walnuts with the smell of my childhood. I break some of them open, rub the inside against my skin so it stays with me. The strange sounds as the fall in the silence of 75 feet.
As the wind blows, the waves of grain from a previous hike I now see in the prairie flowers. This is the hike of false sunflower, black walnut and the crunch of crisp coneflowers that have given up for winter.