The mix of leaves and snow sound cold as they are crushed. The stones underneath are packed hard and interspersed with shallow valleys of white. All but the oaks have shed their leaves, standing throughout the endless tangle of naked branches of the lesser trees. The birch stand stark white against the brown-grey backdrop of the dead and dying flora of late autumn. The mixed hues of grey obscuring the sun this morning reflect in the unusually calm waters of the lake, giving the illusion of a billowing sea on the glass surface.
The stillness of the morning is broken only by the sharp calls of communicating crows and the ruckus of a solitary goose that feels its space has been invaded and must take refuge further from the lake shore.
It is the same old loop that has been traveled many times before. The small inclines and delclines are a welcomed respite from the tarmac. The dam provides a sweeping view of the small lake, the bridges crossing her and the backdrop of the mountains to the north.
There is nothing special about the day, nothing new about the route, nothing to lock one's attention onto. That is what makes it perfect.
It is a late fall morning in Pennsylvania. The sun is still brightening the disgruntled sky and will set again in a few short hours. The furncae at home is roaring to life with flames from the fuel mined from the very core of the earth.
The work day is an hour away yet. At the present there is not another soul to share in the November morning.
It is unadulterated and an unmatched experience.
The stillness of the morning is broken only by the sharp calls of communicating crows and the ruckus of a solitary goose that feels its space has been invaded and must take refuge further from the lake shore.
It is the same old loop that has been traveled many times before. The small inclines and delclines are a welcomed respite from the tarmac. The dam provides a sweeping view of the small lake, the bridges crossing her and the backdrop of the mountains to the north.
There is nothing special about the day, nothing new about the route, nothing to lock one's attention onto. That is what makes it perfect.
It is a late fall morning in Pennsylvania. The sun is still brightening the disgruntled sky and will set again in a few short hours. The furncae at home is roaring to life with flames from the fuel mined from the very core of the earth.
The work day is an hour away yet. At the present there is not another soul to share in the November morning.
It is unadulterated and an unmatched experience.
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