The days fog is dragging the ground, from cooler days than we can remember, the tree is bare of its coat,
Across the ground so brown, with green so desperately wanting to peak again, and the daily summers hold, looking for it to come again.
The morning sits so quiet, so still, so cautious in its way, of telling the day of its plans, to crease it with its sun.
When the heat of summer pulls down upon the fibers of the soul, the morning can be so brutal hot, the day without warning.
But us, like the tree, can look forward to these cool days with just a bit of time, just a bite of luck, just the feeling sure to come.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Tiffany Odom
Between Lawton and Altus
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