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Misty air covers dark comedy sheltering in the short days to come.  As soon as the last golden leaf touches the ground soon the land will sleep again in the silence of the dead. The winter keeps its secrets mischievously burried in the snow; only an occasional crow will perceive the ones that are hard to hide. Like the fall I’m full of anticipation, but I’ll have to prepare myself for the treacherous gasp of the cold winter’s air. It will blow you away like a thin sheet with nothing to hold on to. Each falling leave is a breathless sigh; she’s near as autumn air.