Changes
When the leaves fall, we retreat indoors, gone is the sea-scented beach crashing waves, in their lust of glory.
The sun in a path of gold lower in the sky, creating a paradox of light on the orchard bough.
The distant mountains reach, all the peaks soar in the dust and dark points of glistening white.
Inside, the couch’s perfume exhales, of a certain scent evergreens and pine, a touch of outdoors.
In all it’s devine splendor the clouds would break, one more time, the sun would give its earnest glance.
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