Riding down weaver lake road, the long swoop down to taking a breath in the shallow trough between at the lake covered in long marsh grasses tipped with gold in the slanting sun. Look up to the shortened school building, the sledding hills’ long green grasses waving in a whispered wind and now you're driving up, up through the long river of trees; patches of a burnt red top, yellowing leaves in the wall of green arms reaching out. Those trees they know the way to age… a yearly shedding with color and a cold waiting, to be green again.
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