It was not petrichor, this scent of rain.
The path as I walked had previously
Been dampened by nocturnal showers.
The trees glinted with moisture,
And the sodden ground muffled my footsteps.
No, this was the balm of continued precip
That joined the falling leaves, the cooling winds,
And the shortening light
As messengers all of season’s change.
Glory in the mountains.
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