Seasons.

As I bury my chin into my cozy scarf with goose-bumped skin, honeyed gold dresses the resplendent trees and fall colors diffuse and unmask all around me in various shades of motley orange, yellow and red leaves. The prickly crisypness of Autumn’s iridescent display amongst the periodic beauty of withering reminds me that my life is in an imperishable state of boundless flux; a continual graphic cycle of decaying and rising.

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Just as the seasons inevitably change, so does my inner being. Life is multi-dimensional, and I have been inexorably shedding my inanimate leaves and preparing to scrupulously burn more like an ember rather than a blustery blazing fire.

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I pacifically anticipate the ruthless cold and biting wind screech infringing upon the marrow of my bones.

——-

But first, I must unreservedly jump into a pile of gathered leaves that my elders so very diligently raked.

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