It did not matter that the last of the leaves would still linger after a long winter. He walked his usual course, until he stumbled upon the leaves and still had managed to recollect a distant memory, somewhere in the crevices of his childhood, where the sword of experience had not yet penetrated his soul. It was always the leaves which brought him back, even now among the concrete earth he walks on and the blistering heat of summer,which have no memory and no soul.
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