This. To walk in this gold feels a privilege.
To hear the crunch of the brush
beneath my boots and the whispering
of the breeze through the dry dancing leaves,
to watch the hawk soar and heaped clouds
sail the endless blue, and crimson leaves
twirling down from the trees as if their fall
were part of some grand ballet.
This. Every miraculous detail. Such a gift.
Such a priceless gift.