The rain falls in heavy sheets sometimes
And sometimes, it floats like the snow of an icy mountaintop

Leaves and trees and branches and grass give out their last breaths
Drying breaths, colour and lack thereof

The air always smells warm, even when it is not
Like the beginning of winter and soft caramel

Wind makes its home in the lofts of pine groves
And clears the shadows of thick foliage

The mornings are awake and alive and cold with winter
And the afternoons hazy and content and cozy with the leftovers of summer