Its getting autumn and I was thinking of one of Rilke's poems:
The leaves fall, fall as far,
as distant gardens withered in the skies;
they fall with nay gesture.
And in the nights the heavy earth falls
from all the stars into the loneliness.
We all fall. This hand here falls .
And look at the others: it is in all.
And yet there is one, who infinitely
gentle holds this falling in his hands.
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