Southward,
we chased Autumn,
through burnished, narrowed light
beneath an escort of sprung-coil,
gloss-winged birds.
We pursued Her flame-leafed trail —
a coy wink,
a sly step —
until we lost Her among
gnarled live-oaks
and regiments
of soaring,
sentinel pines.
— C.Birde
I can smell the pines from here 🌲🌲🌲🌲
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They are really something — so very tall, and arranged in orderly lines by some divine hand. 🙂
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