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Transition |
| It is not often that leaves fall/ some wisped by wind creating/ a furious scurry on the ground, below./ Some linger and fall on their own/ slowly swishing here and there until/ settled down, below./ It is not often that a thought comes,/ some in big groups/ powered by some internal flow/ crystalizing in the mind, above./ Some linger, like some/ unripened grain swishing about/ and settling finally on the the mind, above. |