Haze

Just one needle of a pine
Braced against the coming of winter.
Summer has long since passed
and with it, the low and soft harmony of
meadowlarks echoing off the craggy
purple rocks
Scratching the belly of the lazy
gluttonous monsters.
The sky is laden with gold and royal
purples,
hence the majesty of the sun graces all
with it's light.
Long is the moon forgotten in this glory,
only able to reflect what the sun has done
and most are never awake to see.