Misty meadow, barely waking, Tall grasses breathe in ribbons of gold, cool air combs their seed-soft crowns. Fog drifts low, a quiet tide, folding the tree line into its pale pocket of green and embered amber. Morning light loosens from a pastel sky, rose and lavender sifting down— the whole field scented with leaf-soft autumn, with the hush of a season turning so gently you can almost miss it.
