Colours coming, colours leaving

 

You dip your paint brush,
and with textured strokes,
you decorate the landscape in ochres and russets.
The trees tremble with your breath,
each breath sending a leaf into twirling,
each leaf dancing its way into carpet,
all of the leaves rustling with every stride taken,
warm earthy bouquets after rain given.

The branches eventually laid bare,
except for the evergreens,
wearing their needle furs,
waiting for the snow.
And then …
all the colour will be gone,
and the picture will be black and white.

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