Vermont
Yellows, reds, oranges, the slow sublime death the leaves last breath before turning brown
and crumbling to the ground. The panorama of majestic mountains, the only green to be seen
are the ever strong pine trees. To travel along a lazy stream, the nip of and on coming
winter on a cool fall breeze. My only hope is its never soiled by creeping industry
destruction. The stars are so clearly seen, no city lights to obscure heavens lights. May Gods
hands forever shelter it from greedy men.
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