A
hill of stones: the path
barely
discernible. The deer
were
here before us. The trail
grows
steeper, the rocks
smaller.
The leaves turn
and
fall against the rocks,
depositing
eons of tannic acid
and
leaving only the slightest
of
stained indentations.
Photograph by Julie Gentry via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
2 comments:
this is a poem...
that means...
i really like these words.
Reminds me how much I love to get up above treeline.
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