Fallen leaves swirl, a soft dance on paths we walk in autumn scents. Plums ripen, a soft summer glow, putting fruit in the hands of bright childhood at that wood table, a little sunshine in every bite.
- Gary Snyder
Fallen leaves swirl, a soft dance on paths we walk in autumn scents. Plums ripen, a soft summer glow, putting fruit in the hands of bright childhood at that wood table, a little sunshine in every bite.