Autumn surrounds us with a shawl of fog, fringed on the edges, plush and still.
Cold creeps in where the warm winds of Indian summer just danced.
Dog and cat, yesterday chasing leaves, lie motionless, curled against the chill.
I, too, am turning inward, soul quiet, mind calm, the mountain and the bay enhanced
By the autumn, by the fog, by the winter that lies to the north and west, waiting, waiting, waiting for December to call.
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