The soft mellow breeze caresses the pale golden and faded orange leaves. One by one each leaf makes its twirling descent to rest upon the deep rich soil. The air is scented like apples, sweet, crisp and juicy. Around me run the small busy forest creatures, each with a mission of winter warmth. I sit quietly on an old dry trees stump, watching the world float by. 

My cap is the brightest red, flecked with white dots. Its' brim shields my eyes from the sun's golden rays. My chestnut hued corset is sprinkled with fungi of many kinds, some white or yellow, but the majority are deep maroon. Ginger curls fell to my pale shoulders, sweeping across freckled cheeks and nose. My glossed lips matched bold red boots. The folds of my long flowing dress swept around my legs, the red and chestnut fabric bunching around crossed knees. My slightly pointed chin rested upon a thin fingered hand, my deep brown eyes wandered the forest. The other hand grasped a leather glove, on which were stitched two miniature mushroom buttons. Around my neck was wrapped a thick scarlet scarf, engulfing my shoulders and throat. 

Beside me sat a basket of the crisp juicy apples, each shining in the sun's golden rays. Each one tempted me to take a bite, but I thought of the pie they would soon find themselves in and refrained. My mind wandered joyously as it imagined the warm gooey apple pie. 

Picking up my basket, I stood, making my way down the twisting, leaf strewn path back to my comforting cabin, my dress swishing behind me, the thought of pie on my mind.