It feels like fall. The birds take up more space and demand more of their prey. The long stocks of the sunflowers strengthen, darken, harden. The grass braces, and sticks fall to the ground. The trees give up that of themselves too weak for winter’s freeze. The valleys turn stoic, their colorful play is over now. Blossom’s contrast casts shadows. Autumn begins her devouring nature. There is no brace against the cold, only the movement of seasons, only, the movement of seasons. ~ poem