Thin threads of sunlight were forming a bright and aerial canvas in the leaves and branches of an autumn forest.

Like a net of a giant's  spider, it was running through the trees, sometimes hugging them and sometimes escaping their embrace.

A silent sigh of the wind, like a rustling whisper, was the only sound disturbing the tranquility of the moment.

At last the day was coming to an end, colouring the sky with splashes of pink, purple and orange.

Cold but gentle fingers of an early mist started to move through the grass and follen leaves covering the ground.

Like a mother's tender touch, the mist was rolling, spreading a blanket over the tired ground, and the wind, awakened by a sudden chill, sang a soft breathy lullaby to a sleepy forest.

The night crawled in...