Fall is getting near the end of its glow, the creek is low and in the high mountains there is already snow, I sit on cut wood in stacks, all morning been working my axe, I breathe the air with a sense of ease, the sun in the cool is only a tease, littered with fallen leaves the land feels like it is lying down to rest, it’s when I like it best,  the land is still, the bears have had their fill, we are past the summer heat, waiting for a winter greet, letting the calm in the land in me, by dry seedheads and a Cottonwood tree, no need to hurry, no need to worry, for these moments I choose not to think and from this wild take a long drink.