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The red bud that stretches its branches outside our den window is wearing a few yellow-tipped leaves. My backyard tomato plants have succumbed to a greedy worm and the August temps. The prolific rose bush has stopped being prolific. The lonely call of the turtle dove grows more familiar each time I walk to the compost. My late evening rides from the nursing home are being escorted by less and less daylight. The punishing August humidity is showing a bit of mercy in the days of September.
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