I see...
I see... the river waters tiptoe quietly down its bed taking with them, like a golden prize, the yellow leaves that from the poplars last night fell. They are so clear... so silent these waters that the leaves seem nugets floating above their rocky bottom going no where fast on this cold day of autumn enjoing the soft touch of the wind, which lingers around like a phantom present but not seen or felt One would think it wasn't there... the wind for it does not show itself except in the way the... Sign in to see full entry.