Rain of golden leaves

I went to work today expected to write, write, write, but I got pulled away to a beautiful river, a tunnel of golden cottonwood leaves raining and floating in the wind, like little birds on a great migration. The scent of decay, the end of the fruitful season stung my nose, as did the bite of the mountain river stung my body with cold. We walked the river in search of fish, but my eyes wanted to follow the fast paths of countless gold leaves, tokens of treasure glimmering against the cold, bluegray, steal river bottom.