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Now Comes the Fall
by Slater Smith

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As dusk encroaches upon the forest of pacific yews, 

the brown-feather wood thrushes flock to their fruit.

Their thin wings flap noisily in the air, somehow

supporting the birds’ fat, full-bellied bodies as their 

beaks pick byzantium elderberries hanging from pink 

branches, shining in the last of the daylight like pearl-sized

amethyst. The wood thrushes, their slim wings flapping

mightily to support their hover, look like they could fall

 

at any second. Watching them from within my

grounded tent, I find myself worried they will, 

knowing well that if they did fall, I would have 

no chance of catching them- my legs advancing

sluggishly in the thick summer air as my eyes 

follow their descent, only to watch them die.

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