The view today from the old log swing looks bleak. The pumpkin orange and yellow squash colors of autumn are gone. The lake is flat, non-descript. The mid-range row of moutains are white with snow, like a chocolate bundt cake drizzled with vanilla frosting. The noble and evergreen trees seem staid and sober knowing the approaching winter is near. A raven with wings spanned wide sqawks loudly as he makes a solo flight across the expanding sky. I breathe in the cold, chilly air of north Idaho and am thankful for this place in time.
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