Wind In the Hallow

Before the rise of the sun just before breaking dawn has begun, shadows haunt the hallows unfreed where whispers slip in and out the trees. The leaves step lightly along the paths, soon, the trees bare their naked dances as the wind rises to tease the last few branches to release last leaves of summer aftermaths to dance and race along the cold footpaths. Alone, lost the wind begins to cry before the freeze a whirling whine within the lower trees announcing autumn 's end to the harvests; hidden in between the skeletal figures alarmists, a lonely howl that rises before the sun and all the forests weeps at the end of season run. Here it comes, the mighty bellow of winter fall beyond the warm and mellow screeching in the shadow of the hallows whistling the song hung like gallows of spring and summer lost to the darkened shadows.