The Last Diary of Dorian Page
A cool September wind blew across the lake from the north, stirring the autumnal leaves and sending them cascading to the ground. The disordered tides of orange and red, danced across the moonlit yard, meeting in mockery of the many brooks that could be found draining back into the dark waters that flanked the property on three sides. Alexander watched them idly for a moment, as they seethed across the yard. He looked on as they met in eddies before the wind changed direction again, disturbing the momentary harmony, and inspiring yet another configuration. The current breeze was merely the vanguard of the harsh polar winds that would fall upon the landscape in the weeks to come, and the moonlight dance of the leaves would soon come to an end. Buried beneath snow drifts that would linger for 5 months or more, in this northern part of the country.
