Perhaps it is in the leaves of New England's forests.
A sense of past times spent on the land, the very thing that grounds you. Reds and yellows abound and overwhelm. Autumn in New England....It's deep woods have a scent, that are its own. The grasses brown as the leaves flame with vibrant color. The air has a bite, as it chills....and yet invigorates the very Soul.
It is a reflective time, this thing we come to call Fall .. Circumspect.
You yearn for those things that have come and gone. Good hunts with Friends and Family....Dogs remembered and you call their names... For if you speak their names still, they are never forgotten.
Ever wistful in the notion, that when I am gone...will someone still speak my name?
Will I still live in the Autumn air?
Time Spent.
A sense of past times spent on the land, the very thing that grounds you. Reds and yellows abound and overwhelm. Autumn in New England....It's deep woods have a scent, that are its own. The grasses brown as the leaves flame with vibrant color. The air has a bite, as it chills....and yet invigorates the very Soul.
It is a reflective time, this thing we come to call Fall .. Circumspect.
You yearn for those things that have come and gone. Good hunts with Friends and Family....Dogs remembered and you call their names... For if you speak their names still, they are never forgotten.
Ever wistful in the notion, that when I am gone...will someone still speak my name?
Will I still live in the Autumn air?
Time Spent.
