A beautiful morning this to stay swaddled in blankets and live on the bed with deep sleep and wrinkled dreams housed between eyes and tousled hair framed on the head, except that's only a thought most belligerent when winters strike which they have with élan and flicking off sheets with nary a worry in the morning seems like an unattainable agenda which must be pursued with reluctance.
Autumnal leaves have begun doing that thing it says on the box, turning a rich color of rust soon to carpet every path with their bronzed crunch and it breaks my heart to see leaves shimmying away to nothing.
Cloaked in thick ensemble of lackluster greenery, the trees will soon stand naked; their branches twisting upward writhing to kiss the sky and toasty beds will be a nightmare to scrape out of, but more of that anon.
Today promises to be a bit dull if hopeful and the rush of activity that this Wednesday seems to be choking on are happening languorously.
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