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Autumn’s Dance

She waits to make her entrance. She’ll keep us on the edge of our seat and like a great performer she wants to time her act just right. The greens begin to fade and the rain quietly moves in. The leaves give up their grasp as they litter Forest Park’s floor. Coffee and cigarettes merge into a distinct flavor on Delmar and it’s at this time that you know she is close to coming onstage. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of her, slowing your pace so as not to miss a second. The city festivals are piled on top of each other. We must be getting close.

With grace and ease she appears. For a moment you forget whether you’re in county or city. It makes no difference as the temperature begins to fluctuate. In a beautiful display of delicate power she drops low to the ground, then rises quickly up. A collective gasp is heard from Cherokee to Chouteau from Big Bend to Baden. You know that her flirtatious moves only lead to winter, but you can’t help but wish she’d stay.

On her toes now she spins and spins. With effortless motion she reaches toward the crowd. She leans over for her final act and before you can catch your breath the curtain is drawn. The lights come up and the stage is reset for another season.

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