In Autumn I seem to write more than throughout the year. Inspiration seems to just fall around me like the leaves from my Oak Tree. It’s Nature’s last bow, until Spring; covering the land in red, yellow and orange sharing its secret tucked away all summer. I believe if Nature could write, it would be a beautiful poem, expressing how to let go, yet knowing it will all come back in time. Showing a long love affair spanning months, years, centuries, always returning in the first bud no longer covered in the white blanket of Winter.

What does Autumn mean to you?

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