It was windy but not cold yesterday. The windows and the house door had to be closed all day. The strong wind made its way aggressively through the trees, crops and grass which produced spluttering sounds as protest. They were so angry to be disturbed that they changed their color. They did not bow to the passing wind but turned their backs on it. Their leaves still cling to the twigs or the stalks. They are safe at the moment as the wind has ceased. But the wind will come back with the attempt to detach the leaves from the trees and kill the crops and grass with the cooperation of frost and cold air. As a man approaching fifty, the vicissitudes of life have left their mark on my face and greyed my hair. The day is not far when I'll fall like one of the leaves.