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The air is crisp with autumn promise, fills the senses with the smoky scent of a fired-up wood burning stove. A woodland fairy dances past us carrying colorful leaves of yellow and orange. She twirls and twirls until she is quite dizzy scattering puffs of dirt and dust into the air. We hear her voice singing a sweet invitation to run and caper beside her tiny frame. Her magical laughter tickles our ears as we learn to accept the unexpected. The trees are preparing themselves for bed as we hunker down for the night snuggly warm beneath our hand-crafted feather quilt. The air is crisp and scintillating outside. We can't help but watch the woodland fairy dance past our window one last time. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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