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  • I look out from a small window in a tall house on a tree lined street. Brilliant hues of falling hands decorate my view while the late afternoon sun stares me down. And the concrete is catching everything but holding on to nothing. Expressions of anticipation populate and percolate all that is left to grab. The excitement of the morphing leaves dances in the eyes of strangers. I squirm because I feel it too. Some yearn to be held under the spell of the devil's summer. Others welcome the cool with open arms. Change is in the air, uncontrollable change. My window frames the season.
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