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Brisk winds herald the solstice, the end of autumn’s waning days.
Having faded from their brilliance after summer’s youthful green,
the last leaves are shaken from the moaning skeletons of trees
stark in silhouette against the somber light of leaden skies.
The barren tors guarding the windswept northern ridge
and valley pathways soft with pallets of trampled leaves
are haunted by a spirit in exile while far away
the trail to you grows cold beneath the mountain snows.