Season’s Rearguard

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Away from busy roads, my feet lead me beside the waters’ turbid, brown, rain-swollen flow. Narrowing river to left, high, industry to right, grubby, distant. Overhead lone comorant flies, wheels, as if lost in grey sea of sky, companions seeking. As I move on to quieter backwaters, placid, still o’ergrown, overhung by leaf and tree, water puddles in path-pools where cyclist weaves and pedestrians wander. Before eyes, flitting speedy, hovering, darting, high, low, fast, slow: one, two, three blue double-winged surprises shimmer, without sunlight’s glare. October dragonflies, last vestiges of Summer.

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