A crisp gentle breeze passes through;
The pleasant sound of quaking aspen leaves breaks the silence;
Some leaves slowly spiral downwards like golden confetti and blanket the forest floor;
Others remain high in the treetops and shimmer in the sunlight against the cobalt blue sky.
I am inhaling the final warmth before winter reveals itself.
I’m not a writer nor a critic. I’m a reader. This pleases me. I like your word choice and I can feel as if I am there.
Here’s a thought: How about writing some haikus? I think you would be good at it.
Such a nice picture! And a beautiful autumn I think it was in Ouray, based on your poem too. Maybe one day I will see it again 🙂