The leaves crunch under my feet and the wind plays with my hair,
the distant scent of woodsmoke fills the air.
I stop and breathe in the fresh scent of nature, here I find repose,
in my pocket a scrap of paper and pencil, I take them and compose.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
The leaves crunch under my feet and the wind plays with my hair,
the distant scent of woodsmoke fills the air.
I stop and breathe in the fresh scent of nature, here I find repose,
in my pocket a scrap of paper and pencil, I take them and compose.
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