The Quiet Time

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For a moment the earth’s breath is soft,
Warm on my cheek, scented with apple wood and hay.

Grass tops touch nodding heads together in autumn prayer.

Ash Leaves

Vanishing moments of gold whisper soft, brown feathers open. Sunning

 

 

The quiet time flows across the valley.

Blood red weeps against the gold and green of fall.

The Valley

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