the mother with her two girls in a buggy
the pumpkin in between
black stockinged kilt sway through the crowd
the girl who looked like a movie star
who was famous, many years ago
the group of women, all in trench coats, olive
and grey and tan, bespoke with Burberry scarves
marching, their boots rise and fall in unison
the smell of crisp winds, the skirl of leaves
a whirl of perfume; grey skies dark quicker
than night arrives; the girl at the bus stop
with long hair and plentiful eyes; the skip of a short
woman crossing the street; the bustle of women
wearing wool and tweed; mothers with their children
red cheeked, gleaming; sun lower in the sky,
the apples are ready for picking, extra fancy
stains the horizon with its passing, time for one
last bittersweet harvest

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