autumn is in season
the golden borealis is dawning
the air is chill as the wind is shrill
there, i see one!

it’s perfect
a mother maple leaf in prime form
fallen from the tree of her life
fried to a crisp but still unscathed
browned but a golden edge still appears
like a glimmer of hope in its impending fate

i bend down, flip over the leaf
the golden edge moves into a red diaspora
of little veins that tease each corner
i turn the leaf back around and stand up

my foot is now coming down
the leaf gives a satisfying crunch
the sensation almost tickles my brain
i let out the breathe i didn’t know i was holding

i kick it to examine the damage done
left is just tattered brown rags
the gold edge has crisped off
my eye tries to follow along the broken edge
i lose interest
it’s time to turn over a new leaf

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