WHEN THE WISTFUL ARE FORGIVEN BY BRIAN POLK A WISTFUL LETTER TO THE PEOPLE WE USED TO BE There are still a few leaves defiantly clinging to the maple tree in our old front yard. I love watching them flutter in the cold winter breeze. I No. 144 can’t help but admire the figurative middle finger these leaves have for their own destiny. They’re not just summer leaves — no, this particular foliage is not going to let the seasons define who it is as vegetation. HARI REN, PUBS OF ENGLAND - THE TOWN VAULTS - @HARIR3N
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