The morning chill has defeated the purpose of my yellow sweater, I haven’t even broken a sweat. I was trying to jog but the cool breeze slowed me down, and the scenery took me to a stroll. To my left were endless rows of trees whose branches swayed with the wind. To my right was a ridge, where if you’d look further down into, you’d see a gathering of roofs and moving creatures: the birds eye view of a village going about its morning activities.

I have come to a part where the sunshine divides the path in half, the left side under the shadows casted by the trees, and the right side brightly lit by the sun. As I slowly strolled around, I stumbled upon a flower: young and attractive. The earliness of the morning has not wiped away the dewdrops on its bright-yellow cheeks, nor did it stop the scent of it from perfuming the air. There were a number of them but this one seemed to tinge the most; I’d say, around three hours old.

Fall would be giving way to winter soon. I was staring at a last minute blooming beauty.
But nevertheless…
Never too late.