In reverse, upstream



starting with the Southern edges
tinged with drawl
hot as Atlanta in July, but flatter

hills rolling, not steep




The river starts to get narrow

riverbank goes from marsh, to pastures to cliffs

tall grey statues on either side of a slower body of water



Fall comes sooner,  faded yellow and orange first, then 

light brown around the edges

frost arrives, unexpected

before the last September Sunday 




November is damp and cold 

a coat on and jeans everday 

if the wind blows, it is from the West

shooting across the Great Divide with menace 



Winter here is hard and dark

the sun does not so much rise as fades in

tired light bulb muted by layers of grey 

night comes before 6 and woodsmoke coats everything 



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