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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