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Then autumn rolled in
like bales of brittle melancholy
half brown, half orange
across the unswept streets
of early evening.
Something about
the silent slipping of fall
always feels like
an unsaid goodbye
to mark a parting
that’s been coming
for a long time.
The words never had to be said,
but the moment to say them
passes. And then
things change:
it’s a little colder
and hours are shorter,
the trees are bare
and the colors of coping
are earth-toned, as if
to pull the high and dizzy spirit
back down to its rich,
dark beginnings.

“Autumn Morning” by photographer Nick Starichenko


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