A blissful autumn panorama of Vermont's countryside is seen from this hilltop: rolling hills flowing with the gentle autumn breeze, and the vast blue sky appearing endless over the wooded landscape. A field of bovine creatures graze like hungry children before me. Beyond the field lays a structure once and still a shelter for these creatures, worn with the sands of time. Once bright red paint has been faded, and rust on the cold tin roof overlaps its once shiny covering. Next to this structure lies a church, from it I can hear bells ringing, filling the air with harmony and melody. Between these two structures lies a small waterhole, and leading from it a stream, quietly flowing without a care in the world. From these structures and on lies a never-ending quilt of trees, showing off their wonderful autumn colors. The fresh air and odor of a farm lingers about the air, leaving my nostrils in awe of its pure greatness. Nearing the forest edge I gaze upon many paths of unknown destinations, winding like a snake to and fro throughout the wood. The dirt paths covered with a blanket of leaves, yet lost travelers can still navigate the path. Along the horizon I can witness the distant mountains, appearing to never be reached my man. Though the mountains set distant, I can be sure that one path may lead to this far off land, only hoping to witness even more greatness than what currently lies before me.
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