Stowe, mostly known for snow,
is spilling over with trees!
Little, big, bigger, huge!
Elms, maples, larches, Chinaberries,
oaks, birches, ashes, alders, apple,
pine trees and spruces and firs.
I saw a fir tree doing the mamba with the wind,
while all the other trees around her danced as well.
We climbed up to the peak, right up to the ridge,
and saw uncounted numbers; a forest,
tree upon tree, on down the mountain.
Tall, imposing, grand, like soldiers at attention.
Some were broken, uprooted by storm, erosion or age,
looking forlorn and bedraggled, food for the others now,
and shelter for the small creatures who live in and among them.
I had never seen so many trees in one place.
The first tinge of color tipped the ends of some leaves.
Here and there I would see a flash of red,
a spark of yellow, a hint of russet,
all promising the splendid show yet to come.
Autumn in Vermont is the treešs time,
and itšs a brief moment, at that.
At night it is already cold.
The snow will come all too soon.
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