Out in a frost-stricken field saturated with light on a cold January morning such as this, a wintered leaf, in this way, lay careful on the ground as if afraid. After a while the robust sun slowly went down, succumbing to the appeal of sleep. Soon enough the naked leaf began to quiver, negotiating with a darkness pouring in. Unknowingly, for a time I stood above it breathing quietly beneath the mottled light of the moon blinking through an accumulation of branch silhouettes.
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