It’s in the way the sunlight streams through the last vestiges of autumn: as golden as the leaves that hold onto their branches.
It’s in the way the earth bares itself under this fanfare: as vulnerable as new lover’s heartbeats buried under layers of clothing.
Winter’s prelude starts slowly: a distant refrain that works its way through the earth chilled in anticipation.
We slow-dance on this mortal coil to the adagio of life twisting and turning with the whims of the winds that scatter our spirit to the ends of the earth.
It’s all we can do.
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