Tuesday, October 27, 2015

100 Words a Day 732

When the sun rose, I was still several hours away. The dawn light made the early-turning autumn trees blaze red and yellow against the wall of green that lined the highway as far as I could see. While navigating a particularly sharp curve, I slowed down enough to notice a large tree that had fully turned. Its stood alone at the edge of a field, its leaves the color of red mountains. It was like a mountain after a fashion; it had a certain noble aloofness about it. It was alone by choice, not by anyone’s fault but its own.

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