Schubert plays lightly as
morning sun slowly lifts
fog from rolling heights.
Trees donned in autumn coats
of scarlet, orange, russet
and brighter red buttons of sumac.
A color crescendo underlain
with grey sheets of chiseled granite.
I remember first laying eyes
on this beautiful place, when
wrapped in early fall foliage.
A logging truck rolls by, loaded
with sad, shorn trunks, I see the
bottoms, riven rings of time
passed in brutal evidence.
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