When everything else starts to fade with the shadows, and the last sun rays hit the dead leaves among the greens, you begin to understand why Van Gogh clung on to yellow.
The sea is calm, and the mountains trace triangles down to the horizon against pink clouds and purple skies.
Sunbeams through the leaves, making the dying leaves golden and the young ones glow.
You can hear it quiet down for a moment, and then the woods begin to sing a different kind of song.
The wind starts to curl back and run its fingers against your cheeks and through your hair as it blows towards the sea.
Because everything ends, but that doesn’t mean endings can’t be beautiful.
Zee Ro 