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It’s so quiet

In and out of time.

The randomness of thoughts

Is hunting the big emptiness.

From gray to white the careless whispers of the wind

Flow on even paths.

No voices can harm the deadly sorrow of the forest,

No human presence has shown its face since the last yellow leaf has left the lonely tree.

Countless hours of falling to the ground

Have filled the void with hope.

It’s winter.