September Song
The nights are cool now, the mid-morning shadows long. Beside the creek, the leaves of the sycamores dance with a papery sound in the light breeze.
At daybreak, a long V of geese flew over, their calls cutting through the pearly fog that filled the morning fields.
By noon, the sky will be clear and deep blue, and children will gaze at classroom clocks and count the hours ‘til freedom.
I, who am already free, walk through the deserted park and watch as yellow leaves float gently down the stream.
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