Fialed

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. The tone of this entry is all over the place - sometimes introspective, sometimes worried and pained, and rarely in good spirits towards the end. The penmanship is a bit sloppier than usual.

There's a drunken haze over me right now.

Smoke rose to join the canopy. All around the air had begun to turn to the crisp and refreshing chill which Autumn always brought with it, like a blanket to lay over the land. Some leaves in the small copse had started their turn to the colours of their later days, gold and orange now littered the swaying boughs above the damp ground which never seemed to dry. Only the smaller of the woodland creatures seemed to call this copse home.