In silence, peeking between two shallow clouds like pale veils in the sky, the marbled white marble spies through the intricately woven canvas of darkened, green and yellow leaf work. Down upon a world turning away beneath it, towards an uncertain future.

Crisp eve’s air tells of winters fast approach with bouquets fallen apart, releasing faint remains of individual scents into the crystal clear night.

Soon, all too soon, coated in fine, thin white, the blades, petals, leaves and fruit and seeds will be as crisp as the air itself. Dying, dead and forgotten, but also nursing and nourishing the spring…

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