Contours of Creation

A canvas of silence blankets the valley,

Mist clings to the hollows, a ghostly ally.

Sunlight pierces through with golden spears,

Chasing the shadows, unveiling the years.

The river, a mirror, reflects the azure sky,

Mountains stand sentinels, ancient and high.

Leaves whisper secrets in a rustling dance,

Nature's own symphony, born of chance.

A hawk circles above, a silent commander,

Wings slicing the air, a solitary wanderer.

The scent of pine, earthy and deep,

Fills the lungs with promises to keep.

In the distance, a lone tree stands defiant,

Roots gripping the earth, timeless and reliant.

The horizon stretches, an endless thread,

Weaving tales of the living and the dead.