So…the other day I went for a walk, late afternoon, early grey settling in, everything looking grim and happy at the same time, wondering why I write, why would I, or anyone else, put words down on paper, for what bizarre, perverted, self-possessed reason would anyone give a damn what I have to say?

   Sun was low and dirty and I couldn’t help but notice the fall colors dancing around like it was all there in perfect symmetry, all reason and rhyme and beauty and magic, the orange ...


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