'Season of Mist' sickly sweet in the air the copper taste of death as skies, forlorn and tragic grey sigh with bitter breath stirring fragile, brittle tendrels clinging to and feigning life lovely even as they're fallen cut by Autumn's knife these are signs of things to come with the shortening of days and the colors strewn along the path the beautiful decay on the wind you hear the whisper a shivering lament a time of reflecting reveree before the last of life is spent