Ruska..

Words collided against a sylvan aura..
And I looked down at Ruska..
Stippled rain dabbing dew..
Afresh amidst the Obscurity of the Sun..

Hues draped the crunching nascent frost..
Strolling over a carpet of gold and maple..
I sense the air..
Smoldering mountain ashes..
In splashes of Crimson flames..

Penitent boulevards savor the void..
Envious of that flock of swans..
Which flew across the moist cornfield..
In whim and lust..
Hunting through Blueberry Slopes..
for a lost feather..
In surreptitious Autumn pens..

Coquettish reindeers chased the clouds..
For an imagery of a twining sunset..
Bringing home A Lunaa..
who set apart..
The allure of a ripened Season..
Along the Birch Vista..
In the old summer cottage..
of her dream..