And so to begin again

The crimson sun rises from behind these terracotta hills on my horizon, In vivid oranges, reds and gold’s,
Spilling its palette on to the edges of sky,
Casting bronze and copper shadows at my feet,
Warming slight, as fading embers on November fires, Bringing in the new day full of mystery,
Filling my part of life with exquisiteness,
To wondrous for this mere mortal to express,
Beneath my feet grasses damp from natures perspiration, Wetting my chilled and heavy feet,
Darkened green prints showing my path through them, Winters breath cold on the morning air,
Chill me beyond my cumbersome clothing,
As last nights sleep hangs heavy on my eyes,
And lingers in these ageing bones and sinew,
Joint creek and complain as dampen atmosphere penetrates,
As I wander with Henry through this beautiful new day,
He sniffs and snorts at thing unseen,
Their trail cold, but scent remains,
Delicately lingering on moist earth,
His warm breath hangs silver on the air,
Winter birds gentle song floats on this still clear morning, Fallen leaves form yellowing carpets on which I tread, Crunching soggy beneath my souls,
My lungs too, expelling translucent smoke curling up and away, The frosts of another December hiding just around the corner,
The morning smells giving them away,
Soon to decorate rooms and shop like savages,
As this silly season approaches at speed, but just for now,
All forgotten and put behind, no past or future,
Just gaze in wonder at natures work once more,
And once more stunned by such exquisiteness,
No artist could do justice,
And certainly not I,
So here I linger, and watch,
And so to begin again.

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