ruebefrei

The grass is still heavy of silver drops and the sun stands high up in the sky. Fresh green breathes the end of the summer and life comes to a last high of its strength. But though there is warmth on my back and my face, I sense cold through the dewrise which the brightness can’t hide: It’s getting fall and with none of their idle efforts can the days deny its approach. They’re preparing a feast for the falling season, releasing their beauty once more. As if it was an infinite, endless gift and sharing provided just more of it, nature spreads magic on this morning like stardust settles in forsaken plains.