The Fallen Angel

This story begins in the middle of September; the leaves had begun to change into a rainbow of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens - that were making everything seem a bit brighter then when it would after Winter arrived.

My home was in Asheville, North Carolina. The old cabin rested a couple miles down from the next nearest house; nestled into the thick wooded area, a couple hundred yards from the road - and about five miles from The Blue Ridge Parkway. Mighty Chestnut Oaks, Black Birch, Red Maple, White Ash, and Pitch Pine trees surrounded the handmade cabin which I called home. Not to mention countless other trees, bushes, shrubbery, and flowers that I couldn't identify if I tried.

None-the-less, my house wasn't easy to find, especially since the only way to get to it was a dirt path - which just so happened to come after a very sharp turn, so if you were going faster than forty-five there would be no way you could make the turn quick enough. And even if you managed to get on the path, my house was easy to miss due to the shrubbery, and trees surrounding it.