As the sun slowly climbed out of its slumber, the freshness of the morning became increasingly intense.
Plants, after fermenting overnight, produced a mesmerizing freshness; mixed with the thin mist from dew evaporation and fresh flavours rolling out of the soil, it released a breath known as 'vitality.'
This scent was particularly distinct on the tree-lined path.
In the crevices of moist stone slabs after frost, small weather-beaten patches of moss stubbornly stood upright in the early autumn morning; above their heads, the frost-bitten pagoda tree leaves ultimately refused to cling to the branches, laying out a red leaf carpet of varying brightness on the blue stone path.
The tree elves blocked most of the tree holes with dead grass, leaving only a narrow slit to observe the shadows coming and going under the tree, as well as the rotating drama on the long bench beneath the tree.
