Driftin'
The leaves are strewn in a golden patchwork over fading lawns. Mornings carry a bite, woodsmoke permeates the air and football permeates the talk. The stores have all seasonal wares out. It is the autumn of the year.
I've been listening to mid '60s Herbie Hancock on Blue Note, drinking coffee and contemplating the approach of the winter hours. And I don't have any conclusions, and I don't need any and I don't care...
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