Vine Leaves

The vine, it's rich green swaying leaves gone long ago with the November wind, now clings stark and hungrily to the gray stone wall - it's filigree of branches delicately woven, it's hidden beauty boldly chiseled in bas-relief of black ... A fan spread out in tracery.

Suddenly there is movement. Shining, irradiant starlings fastened to the outspread veins stir ever so slightly, flutter, and are still again.

Dreaming sequins on a black lace fan!

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