Pine
Lonely hill
A bird of prey swoops
Eerie darkening skies loom
Dry grasses ripple in the pale sun
A herd of deer gathers at the meadow's edge
The reds, oranges and yellows of Fall are long fled
Stands of bare white aspen mingle with blue spruce and Douglas fir
Restless waves build on the midnight water of the lake
Far away granite peaks point to the heavens
A cold stream grey and wet rushes by
Small creatures huddle for warmth
Autumn is dying
Chill winds blow
Rain
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