Summer’s dying breath propels the withered leaf

    from August’s shimmering Aspen.

 It pauses in quivering indecision on the   

    Tundra’s naked window.

 Clinging, compressed, it spreads its ragged edges,                  

    clutching feebly the slippery glass . . . hesitating.

 Velocity finally exhales it . . . over the cab roof.

 Blowing down the street, joining its partners –

      driven on their merry way.

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