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De ramis cadunt folia: autumn's empires are falling down, winter's closing in. Enough leaves remain on enough trees in sufficient autumn colours-- ochre, umber, sienna-- to recall the brocade glory of just a week ago; enough trees have gone completely bare to remind me of the drabness to come. But still I get little memory frissons of various somber yellow years as I walk the leaf-washed streets- '58 in my serge convent uniform, playing in the leaf piles in the darkening back yard; '85 reading Soseki and Takuboku on Brunswick Ave, fatally around the corner from the now defunct Book City; 2000 biking down to Chinatown Central for hideously overpriced Saiyuki tanks. Good times, good times.
And totally misplaced, a memory of having coffee in an Omote-sandou kissa with Fearless Leader and
paleaswater on such a November afternoon as this. Which was in fact February, but Yoyogi park was still awash in yellow ginko leaves and it *felt* like November. (Though Tokyo November was usually shirtsleeve weather, which is more disconcerting than I can say.)
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And totally misplaced, a memory of having coffee in an Omote-sandou kissa with Fearless Leader and
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