Sugar maple tree flames above me.
Trickster winds nudge single leaf from its mooring.
Like a gymnast, it sworls, down, down, down.
Then sticks to the glistening pavement.
Hairy veins, now empty of nutrients.
Musk steams from subsoil.
Stillness gawks.
Yet decay rejuvenates the cycle.
Spring will whisper under dove-gray skies.
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