The sun begins it’s earlier descent, a watery eyed moon watches listlessly on, waiting for a blanket gentle night to shroud the paling hills and quiet valleys. We take time, with tranquility, see late summer creak, turn and glow as an ember before a fire. Auburn and earthen leaves tussle sailing fickle on a crisp wind. Wool weaves like arms and kettles whistle a siren. For each season surely has it’s reason as we have ours in tandem too. The nights are longer and days shorter.
But no love is lost for you.
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