Blue Sun

Season of cold rains. The leaves are beautiful... and dying. Twirling lightly on the boughs. Soon they'll dive face first into the icy ground. Snowflakes will take their place. In gay glittering clusters. Dancing to their time but the time is brief. Soon they'll turn to liquid dust. Upon the rays of silver streams. snowbirds will return for certain. Somewhat broken. They'll fashion feather huts. Sowing morning's downy song into a misty blue oval sun. seek the perfect crook