Walking in the autumn woods, the leaves crunch beneath your feet while a cool breeze aids their fall from the trees to the soon-frozen ground. The scent of pine fills the air from a log cabin, and a fire crackles in the fireplace as night gives way to dawn, turning embers into ash.
Dressed warmly, you sit on the front porch with a good book in hand, gazing out at the snow-capped mountains—a prelude to the winter wonderland that will soon blanket every inch of the landscape. It’s the perfect time and place to write as your cold hands put pen to paper, searching for inspiration that strikes as hard as a tree limb crashing to the ground.
The mountain is quiet, with small animals scurrying around in search of food to sustain them through the harsh winter. They call out to one another when they discover a food source, and if you're lucky, you'll spot a rabbit whose fur turns white to blend in with its surroundings.
As darkness descends, another fire crackles in the fireplace as you read another chapter in your book. You close your eyes for just a minute but find yourself drifting off to the sound of wood turning to ash and the almost silent autumn of the year.
Mike 2025
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