The mountains powdered with termination dust hark the end of summer. Soon the clusters of evergreens will be coated in snow, just as they were last winter. The snow falls flake by flake. It's in no rush to hit the ground; it will melt once it does. The fireweed has bloomed - only towering stalks and wilted magenta flowers remain.
The same type of peace befalls my quiet life. Slowly, I return to old ways. Like footprints in the snow, the tread of future days looks much like those of the past.