hello october my old friend

Overhead geese honk against gun metal gray sky. I yearn to fly with them, wherever they are headed. Rooted to one spot but still rootless I remain. Is this some flaw of mine, or of my chosen substrate. And so the geese tempt me once again. The primal urge to shift with the seasons, in body as in mind. I wonder will it haunt me to the end of my allotted days.

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