It is the time of leaves, of leaving, leaf- and leave-taking.
From a poem of the same name, by Louise Bogan—
I do not know how we can bearThe river struck by the gold plummet of the moon
And nor do I know how we can bear this conflagration of the trees, leaving them stripped and sere, with nothing left.
Every year again, this fundamental loss.
Every year again, this fundamental loss.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Red Leaves
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