This is a scene from my story Falconidae. If you enjoy it, please read my story as well.

Fran

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As the first rays of sunlight lit the dew damp earth, a gyrfalcon sat perched upon the branch of an ancient oak tree. Its head was crowned with a cap of cream feathering.

Its grey; almost white feathers reflected the golden colours of the few autumn leaves that still remained on the trees that surrounded it. Its eyes sparked with the bright new sun.

On the grass below, water droplets glistened like diamonds as they clung to the green blades. The last lone burnt umber leaf fell from the oak tree’s branches, dancing gracefully on the breeze as it fell, and softly nestled itself on the tips of the jewel encrusted grass. A low mist hung between the trees, the wind making it swirl and dance.

The gyrfalcon cocked its head to one side; its silvery eyes watching intently. And then, in one fluid motion, it spread its beautiful pointed wings, and soared from the branch, diving and turning, pleasuring in the fresh morning air.

As the flapping of its great wings, along with its distinctive sharp call broke the silence of the dawn, the majestic gyrfalcon disappeared into the late autumnal mist.

And so autumn bade its last farewell to the lands, and winter swept over Falconia.