
The chill is here.
The sky never
bluer.
The colors turn,
with leaves ever
fewer.
Until a last
hanger-on yields
to a weak breeze.

The chill is here.
The sky never
bluer.
The colors turn,
with leaves ever
fewer.
Until a last
hanger-on yields
to a weak breeze.
There’s a tender stillness woven into these lines—the way autumn narrows the world to crisp air, deep color, and that single lingering leaf. It feels like a snapshot of quiet surrender, when creation lets go without hurry or fear. A soft, truthful reminder that even in the seasons of losing, there is beauty in the gentle releasing.
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