Peering out into early morning,
I see the pink orange sun peaking over the tree line on the horizon,
making the dew on the sharp green grass sparkle like diamonds on display.

Walking down the path with autumn leaves crunching under the weight of my foot,
blue birds sing the song of nature while picking berries from trees.
I head up the hill topped with an old oak.

Under the tree is calm, quiet, peaceful.
The grass, soft and fluffy, like cotton pulled from a sheep.
Wind blows the tree, adding to the collection of leaves that tumble on the ground.

White gray clouds float like bubbles in the sky,
Making mysterious creations that melt into one another.
The view obscured by sparse leaves from the oak

Night eventually falls and crickets replace the songs of the birds.
Stars come out one by one dancing in the sky.
Like a nightlight that always paves the way, the moon guides the path home.