Cliffs. Almost vertical,
but slightly rounded.
Moss growing here and there,
but mostly the brown and grey of rock.
Thick bunches of evergreen trees,
intermixed with many others.
Leaves turning yellow and orange.
Some already falling,
taking brief journeys in the wind of this place.
There’s a waterfall, just visible,
high up, and far away.
The sun is only just rising.
It’s not visible behind the mountains and trees.
Yet light creeps in to the sky.
The world has a bluish tint.
I am safe, and comfortable, and warm.
Observing the beauty,
in quiet manner.
Sitting here, several hours go by.
I see the sun rise further.
The world turns less blue.
Outside, birds begin to chirp and sing.
Before long, the new day is born.
The light is vibrant, and alive.
A quiet Sunday morning.
Poetry
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