A mist lays over the wintered mountains

Creating a rolling sea of gray.

The laden sky hangs low,

Blending with land as they meet on the horizon.

Though gray, the scene is not melancholy.

It feels as though all is quiet and peaceful,

Resting from the rigorous production & turmoil of summer.

Even birds have become silent,

And the only sounds to be heard are the

Encapsulated goings-on of oblivious men.

My mind and body also feel laden and heavy,

Tired from carrying the worries of the past year.

It is time to rest, and join the landscape

In it's temporary sleep.