Though the sun is still yellow
and the clouds not yet greyed
the earth has been whitened
by dust falling from haze
The green poking out through each small clump
Brown timber standing still, some at a slump
The limbs of the sentinels coated in off-white fur
Each reaching out wondering what the sky holds
Soak up the sun, drink from the sky
The yule season comes, the fall withers dry