These few days have been madras
with a twist of peated scotch.
I wonder at the cool breeze
chasing me from the mountains
and find I crave warm bread
and you.Would the leaves hold secrets 
or do they shed their storied colors
with abandon like veiled dancers?
With an upright stance
and a kick toward a spiraling tomorrow,
we flow the way of late summer creeks,
swift and ahead of the sun.


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