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Autumn
Steven, Age 13, England

Summer had faded and the beautiful substitute had risen. Autumn.

Like poetry, it caused an effect. The trees would drop their leaves, fluttering down to meet the floor. Before the day end, the gutters would be filled with dead leaves, crunching as you walked through them. Children playing on the grass, wrapped up warm. Mittens, woolly hats, big lilac coats that their grandmother bought them for Christmas. Playing together, skipping round the trees.

I would sit and watch the silent street, no cars or any kind of vehicle would pass. It was sweet relief.  The clouds would usually be snow white, happily dancing across the sky, like a toy a baby would have. Gentle breezes found their way down the avenue, letting sign that another graceful season was on its way. Winter.

The heat of summer had lasted a while, now it was time to calm down with Autumn.

Beautiful countrysides, animals, flowers blooming in autumn's praise. No hassle.

None. Just calm, gentle slow movement happened in the street below. Like time had stood still, so I could capture my breath and take in everything in the street.

Nighttime would fall and the streetlamps would illuminate the street softly, the day had moved on but the atmosphere was still the same. No sound, just the gentle noise of humming birds. Children would be inside, sitting next to a toasty open fire, eating their supper before retiring to bed, to wake up to a brand new Autumn day.

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