An autumn farewell
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 73
Fall comes late to my little corner of the country. The sycamores start turning in September, but other trees seem unaware of the calendar until December, when they make up for lost time with a display just in time for Christmas. I gathered some faded fallen leaves the other day, and used scanography to give them a chance to shine once again. Happy winter solstice!
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