"Autumn!" shout the Linden. Yellow gold, they compete with the last rays of the sun for the title of the most beautiful honey color. "Autumn!" they shout, and they seem to be fun. Only today, this one day in the sun, they scream it, together with the ashes, into the September blue. How confident they age in the consciousness of self-renewal. Dancing in the wind sending their leaves and mock the maple that hangs himself theatrically to his colorful jewelry. "Autumn," he mutters. "Autumn!" shout the Linden, dancing.
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