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Fall Woods
October 4, 2017
Walking to the red painted barn,
I inhale the crisp morning air.
The birds sing,
This is my calm.
I saddle up my stallion,
My hands smell of leather.
Trotting with the cool air against my face,
Leaves crunch.
This is my happy place.
The taste of dust,
Gritty and arid.
Fall woods,
peaceful as the sunset.
© Anonymous
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