Winter's come early this year,
The cold air is crisp as I walk through the fields,
The sun already beginning to sink below the horizon,
Even in this early hour of evening,
Winter birds calling to each other in the empty silence,
The smell of woodsmoke thick in the air,
It's a warm spicy scent,
It contrasts well with the icy bite of the breeze,
Frost starting to tint the edges of plants,
Covering them with the cold silver glitter,
And as Winter dawns,
And Autumn dies,
The snow drifts gently down from the clouds,
Upon the place beneath
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