| Stalwart standing at the edge of the valley....harvest done...the sun golden flicker from fluttering leaves...the morning breeze twirling them lazily up in widening spirals....slipping to the earth...into the cracks and crevices piling to make a bed for seeds falling...protection from the screeching murder of crows...rising as a dark cloud of future's unknown...beneath the soft pillow of floating daydreams...drifting on the moment... | |
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