tiny ghosts

On my Friday-after-work walk at Mt. Hope Farm with the dog I noticed that overall, the forest was quieter.  Leaves were dying and animals were beginning to settle in for the winter or had flown the coup.

But everywhere we walked, I could hear rustling in the bushes and brambles behind and beside us. It happened so often that I was starting to get a little paranoid, until I could just barely make out a the colors of a chickadee as it flew away.