Paint the Breeze

Oh that my brush could paint this breeze, or my pen write the words to let you see the auburn leaf’s ephemeral flight as it tumbles down the wind to light on my uplifted face.

But no, this brush has not the skill, nor I the words or a magical quill to capture this moment in colour or rhyme, though I paint and write ’til the end of time of its beauty and its grace.

Come friend, and share this day with me, sit by my side and look and see and hear and wonder and taste and smell this scene that a poet cannot tell, in this mystic, lovely place.


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