Withered

The deep fall has an iron-clad grip on us all. We should come to embrace it. There is a beauty to the dying plants, once radiant and plentiful.

The young man stands on the edge of his porch
The days were short and the father was gone
There was no one in the town and no one in the field
This dusty barren land had given all it could yield

-Dustbowl Dance by Mumford & Sons