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I am but a fickle heart longing to be fearless.



Thursday, October 15, 2009

Painted Faces

Autumn’s aroma is a perfume.

We anticipate its arrival but it sneaks in

before the leaves can paint their faces.

Crisp breezes weave through the air.


Trees’ branches reach to embrace

the apples that lay dormant at their feet.


Our nights are havens for the stars, which burn brightly in our eyes

as we wonder at the magic of the changing seasons.


And autumn brings us to a calm middle ground.

It shakes our fears of winter.

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