To daytime, waiting on the  schooltime steps, I  precept something I had never seen before. My back against the  cranky brick wall, in happy prospect, I sta exit abstracted towards the red-orange of autumn on a tree. At the  very(prenominal)  ticker of my concentration was a  bingle  thumb; a  disunite yellow-green, not even red yet. But it fell. I saw the precise moment of  break - the  gross the  page turn actually disconnected from the branch. It was the   briefness of perfection. Partition in sunderance, an   omphalos severed, a future  unfastened; an end and a beginning.  in that location was an eternity  in spite of appearance; the filial unity, the brief  fight down for escape,  whence the sudden absence seizure of support; and from an empathic vicariousness I  ground myself within.    I found my  built-in life in the transience of an instant; I  sit down up, in respect and humility. The   rove swung in descending pendulum. I rose to grab it,  and thence stopped. I was standing in a small  ram of  squiffy and shredded leaves. The  hitchhike,  raise by a breeze, slowed, suspended, paused then  trilled over on itself. I knew that one day this  flicker too, would crumble into a crust of sinew and  bow - so I  allow the  page number continue, rising upward.    The leaf waltzed in an orbit  virtually itself. Others fell around it,  only if I kept my attention. This leaf was lighter. It took its time.

 The torn yellow leaf, because of its shape, spun  differently than the rest. The leaf was continually tossed up in irregular oscillations, gaining  elevate distance, until it came  snug the wall of the building. As the wind approached the brick schoolhouse, the air was  squeeze up and over, trying to  pull back the leaf along with it.    The leaf reached up, against gravity, and against the  snap shreds below. It hung, pulled...                                        If you want to  tolerate a full essay,  guild it on our website: 
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