when the leaves were aglow
and the sap’s upward journey slowed,
I sat upon a hill
and gazed into the sylvan valley,
enjoying the sun’s limpid light
waltz through the wildwood
while the wind soothed the fiery maples.
Resting back against the furrowed, brown bark
as Pan’s haunting Pipes
heralded the quiet chill of Fall,
when the Earth pauses
after Summer’s lively bustle
before settling into Winter,
breathing a sigh of contentment
for the coming three months of sleep.
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