A Poet's Journal: November 13th, 2014
The trees are different; it is gray and windy; that feeling everyone knows of autumn. It seems as if it comes all at once, like an experience that we forget the details to, but never the feeling, nor the flash of color, nor the fading light. That is why it is so easy to be lost among the trees today; they are shades of themselves, and part of an ideal gone astray.
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