An Old Log

A gray and darkening day. A rising wind. A last few skeins of geese arrowing down the great river. I take a break from working in the woods to sit on a favorite log, in a special place called Galleons Lap, named in honor of my old friend, Winnie-the-Pooh. Pines toss their heads in the wind–moaning, sighing, whispering, “Winter. Winter’s on its way.” On my log I sip one last cup of coffee from the thermos and raise a toast to the changing of the seasons.

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