the lost man chronicles

At dawn the lawn was glistening, so I stooped to listen to the sparkle of each new bit of dew clinging to every other blade of grass, every watery gem yearning to, alas, evaporate and be freed to become one with the sun and this crisp and clean air of my mourning. The host feral green waking in the summer solstice was just the thing to ring this truth so charmingly. For just as it would turn brittle and brown with the Fall, all animate beauty and youth is called upon in the end, and ultimately, destined to be equally ephemeral.

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