God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.
James M. Barrie
Fall seemed to rush toward December this year and recollections of buds and blooms, with fragrances from neighborhood flora mere specters in its wake.
Scanning the south end today, midwinter seemed more imminent with each new leaf pile raked for emphasis, and alder, sweet gum, and poplar remnants, stark sentinels minus shadows, overseeing the cleanup.
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