going red

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It's that time of the year: When perfectly good leaves go red; shutting down their photosynthesizing, their carbon dioxide conversion, their breathing: bad air in, good air out.

Exhausting work.

Becoming brittle and torn, frayed at the edges, the leaves slip into senescence. If only my own aging could be so bold. If only my own life processes could end with such panache, such courage.

If only.

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