FlagstaffA Poem by gichellemoldenThe wind blows through the pine trees, a hushed whisper. I hear faint breathing from the horses in the distance. Rhythmic and calm. The sound of earth succumbing to their steps as they move across crimson cinders. I breathe in the northern winds, scalding in their crispness. The transition of Autumn seeps through flesh, settles into bone. Rusted leaves and golden peaks encompass the horizon, washed pink. Cheeks flush rose, tenderly kissed by the impending cold. All I can see is change in the seasons, in me.
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