Seeing from afar, carnelian (or cornelain) leaves are Autumn’s attempt at making… butterscotch.
Borrowing the fleshy shades of pumpkins and the brownish-red of quartz, Autumn created carnelian.
But it wasn’t until the sun set her leaves ablaze with his cinnamon rays, that the magic happened.
And I let my bitter memories fall at my feet, between the carnelian leaves.
The bark of the pine tree is warm under my hands; I don’t mind it’s harsh feel. My fingers dig into its crevices, searching for centuries old secrets. And the same scent, sharp, sweet, and refreshing that welcomed him centuries ago, speaks to me now.