Leaves tumble by as you walk through the park
to school. Crunching acorns under your feet
an organic smell in the air: mulchy,
warm, welcoming, an anchor. To the north,
leaves change to needles and firs perfume the
air—a sweeter smell that pulls at you. The
wind plays the needles and the leaves applaud;
time gushes past, like water. Both tear things
down only to build them up somewhere else.
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