A breeze of perfume,
suggestion of age,
entrances the senses,
clearing haze from dog days.

First shadows of fall,
opens dimensions,
allowing the soul to
catch up on reflection.

Fading of life,
crescendo of passion,
To feel more alive,
as a form of regression.

Herein the golden leaves
hold their cotillion,
catching the last light
while waiting for snow;
spirits phase into
a vast celebration,
while Hecate smiles
and sways to and fro.

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