Yesterday I went walking, after nearly a week of waiting, due to continuous rains and a bad cold. I looked around eagerly, trying to perceive all the nuances of the leaves and sky. Sniffing with pleasure the smell of wet earth and leaves that melted into the ground, soaked grass at the edge of ditches. And I breathed in deeply as I had never happen. Today I brought the camera, with 's intention to steal a piece of the "scene" to keep it in my memory.
A poem dear to me.
Sera 's Fall
Play ....
With a rustle dry and mild,
similar to the tramp of passing ghosts,
the withered leaves fall off the trees from frost
and fall.
(A. Crapsey)
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