Quilted leaves
Most brilliant before
Death’s final blow.

Mountain’s covered
In melted Crayola colors,

Blanketed in
Mornings soft, downy clouds
Like snow.

The sun
Just starting to peer
It’s crown
Above the cool horizon.

It’s beams,
Like outstretched arms
In a good yawn.

The birds
In winters way,
Now all but gone,
.

Leaving
a palpable silence
So real, So calm.