The bus is packed,
Smells of cabbages and wet,
Sunshine glints off the wet road surface,
A falling leaf; a shard of gold drifting through the air,
The Sun is bright,
The sky a deep blue.
He always has his head down when he walks into work,
Pondering,
Then looks up as he passes the tree,
Stripped of its leaves,
Black branches and narrow twigs.
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