Brisk breezes blow down through the mountains, just passing through and yet taking the colors of summer with it as it continues down towards the distant seas. Green slowly turns to brown as the seasons gradually change.
Flowers bow their weary heads to the approaching fall. I can't help but anticipate the changing of seasons. It is not the deminishing of beauty but the metamorphing to a beauty of another kind, a different caliber. It is the orange and golds of the changing leaves, the crisp misty mornings, the luke warm sunsets, the soft velvety cool of moonlit nights. I can almost smell its approach.