the dust of everyday life into a golden haze.
― Elinor Glyn
Beneath turning leaves,
Wading through drifts
In places knee-deep.
Hearing dry whispers
Of nodding trees,
Already dreaming
Muttering in sleep.
By the creek path
The breeze feels wintry,
I can almost see
Snow dancing before me.
Squirrels and rabbits
On patrol,
Foraging for food
At the urging of crows.
Soon the woods
Will be lost in wintry sleep,
The trees entranced
With visions of spring,
But all this world
To you is asleep,
Sheltered
Behind turning leaves...