The autumn season comes as if nature's editor has taken a shift change, as if the artist who loves the greens has taken a rest and the earthen hued lover is in command.
I have been a flower, these long summer days, unfolding petals to welcome each and every summer ray. Each day that now comes onward, each sweet hour that follows the dawn, the autumn season brings her own artistic hand, evolving beauty into harvest abundance with an ever giving hand.
The season of autumn comes as a chariot of nature's flame, from woodland browns is born reds and golds to warm each and every eye. And so those leaves born as flags to wave in every sweet gay wind, born to fly in wind choreographed dance, soon to rest upon the forest floor, their embraced destiny to feed each earthen wintry root.
The autumn season of rainbow rain comes with new winds soft and chill; she dances with the summer-time, taking a more confident lead each day.
The autumn season stretches forth with fingers of every hue, from the serenity of browns to fireside reds and the gold of sunny days.
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