The hushed, slow

exhalations of the god of

clouds, and the rhythmic

crunch of footfalls on the

ground, were the only

noises, around.

Brown, bare, trunks, and

remnants of leaves,

branches, and things

that used to be

green, was all that

could be seen.

Breath escaped my mouth in ghostly bursts,

as the sun pleaded with lingering frost,

boots crunched twigs, and acorns, as I strolled,

the beautiful of a quiet forest, wondrous to behold.

I was at peace.

Humbly yours,

J