Contrast

The woods on a crisp fall day right as trees are either dead or dying. The the way the sun shines through the over brush leaving thin trails of light along the path and casting shadows down the trunks of every decaying tree.
How intricate and delicate every thorn on a rose bush is. How they almost outshine the beauty of the most perfect rose.
The molting feathers in the bottom of my birds cage. How they're grey and small, but the perfect color. Not too cold of a grey. Just the right tinge. A comforting grey that reminds me of his eyes.
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