Quiet - I'M Weeping.

Arrow's echo bouncing off birch trees capturing sound in it's wind: blue birds at the screaming peak of hunger, rustling of ants with the last haul of insects before winter down deep into quiet tunnels of perfectly rolled soil and sand, the singular first drop of rain on a crackling red leaf still holding it's breath 'till it turns brown, four hawks in a circular flight bleeding the wind in wings and me, lost in autumn shot from your bow last year.