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The setting sun grazes the treetops
and they shimmer with a golden light
that seems to emanate from within.

Brisk air kisses my cheeks and
turns my breathing into vaporous fog
that reminds me, too soon,
old man winter is on his way.

The leaves become multi-colored gliders
that dip and dance,
swirl and soar on updrafts
from the sweet September wind.

Clouds go skidding across the sky
bursting forth with astounding hues,
painting dusk like oils on blue canvas,
flourishing the close of a perfect autumn day.

K.Tate Jacoby
copyright September 1995
(revised May 19, 2008)

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