The berries, plump and sweet, are ready for picking. We must get there before the birds steal them all away. They'll eat pretty much anything, especially as winter nears, and even despite the fact that these berries resemble their own young. The ravens look so austere, like proud parents guarding over their offspring. But no, tiny eyes and beaks mean nothing to these wise and unsentimental omnivores; the berries are food.
Thankfully it is still warm. The bright sunlight is reflected by a seat of orange foliage. Orange and black; funny how the colors of decay can be so rollicking. Particularly when set against a clear, blue sky. I feel almost as if I'm at a circus, surrounded by colorful costumes and banners and gleeful songs, where the animals solemnly endure a tortured existence for our amusement.
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