Branching paths

The leaves had begun to fall again. This was something she could hear, instinctively, without really reflecting on when she’d learned how to do it. It had something to do with how the branches pushed against the window. The leaves made a kind of brushing noise, while the bare twigs made more of a rasping sound. As a child, she had sometimes thought it sounded like something grasping at the window. Now, it only made her smile, the familiarity of the cycles comforting.

It had turned out alright. Both then and now.

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