leaves

throwing the pen aside, he steps to the window to let the autumn air free. leaves are collecting on the side-walk bellow. for now his choice music is the rustling of the yellow, the red, the orange, the brown leave.

the leaves have provided the few changes he’s experienced this year. for only a few moments he is content with this. getting a chill from the breeze, he closes the window, back in the same spirit, same body, same soul, nothing new.

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