Autumn
possums sheared branches of their foliage, branches that undulate through the
air like rivers, and now we break or saw these branches, making space. In
August the lightest yellow comes out on the wattletree at the window. Soft
yellow so soft it almost phases into white. Is there a word? Straw. Champagne.
Mimosa. For a fortnight the wattletree goes soft while we hurry-up breakfast,
find our way to daily places, take calls, send emails, deal with mess, read
about the real world, return and share and read and watch, or talk against
pillows and sometime turn out the lights.
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