The Falling Sand

I sit here in Boston,
gazing out the window,
observing the burnt-orange autumn
silently swayed by the October winds.
The sky, blanketed in silvery white,
watches over the empty streets
like a vow of silence.
I am grounded in the moment,
a tree planted
in this garden of time,
and I feel only this moment,
eternity captured in the falling sand of my life.
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