sunlight dripping down
leaves look as stained glass
the shadows soak in brown
leaving sight at an impass
shadows growing along the day
wondering where time goes
to be in it, just to play
only a cat knows

the warmth of golden light
melting weary bones
soothing cold hunter plight
noticing hues and tones
rustling from winter chill
fauna tenatively forage
hunters actively kill
hiding in coverage

sun steaming dew from flora
mist rising above the tree tops
forming brilliant aura
glistening, the twining hops
as the morning comes along
damp earth exhales fertility
dawn sings a swansong
such are some reality

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Scarlatan, in the year 641 AF.