Autumn
Late autumn.
I sit at the side of a northern lake, and gaze out on still water.
It’s quiet,
The loons have gone away.
The trees along the shore are leafless, silently waiting.
The tamaracks have turned golden.
The songbirds have flown away.
Wind-shaped pines struggle against northern winds.
The sun, late to rise, is early to hide.
Ice forms on still water.
Flurries drift slowly from a grey sky.
Silence reigns in the snow covered forest.
The long winter sleep,
has begun.
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