Silence. In the junipers atop the valley,
Autumn - a roam mare - rubs her mane for dressing.
Well above the wooded river banks -
That's the dark blue clang her horseshoes make.
Wind, a monk, walks past with wary footsteps
Holding back the foliage on the pathways,
Kissing, when he comes upon the mountain ash,
Crimson wounds that are the marks of Christ unseen.