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I write the last sentence of the economics essay,
And my youngest brother says to me,
“Come see my birthday present!”
That time of year again.
“I’m almost finished,” I sigh—
Dotting the “i” in my name I had written
In the top, right hand corner of the page.
My brother drags me by the hand from the kitchen into the garage.
“I got a Ford F-150,” he states with a grin,
“Four doors, black leather seats, and painted navy blue of course.”
It’s just that time of year.
I look out of the garage towards the woods:
The cool, September breeze brazes my cheeks
While I watch and contemplate the green, orange, red, and brown leaves
Of the Oaks that stand firm,
Of the Maples that show off their leaves,
Of the Aspen that take the chilling wind.
The trees that make up the woods are always so wonderful
This time of year.
“Here it is!” My brother exclaims.
“Very nice!” I exaggerate.
“I was just kidding before.” He said with a laugh.
I looked at the K2 mountain bike in front of me,
All bright, shiny and new.
And noticed the great color:
Late September, that time of year again.