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It’s that perfect union where death becomes beauty before swallowing it whole- bits of brownish-cream playing at the edges of what’s left of the vibrant pink. In the grand fashion that is Autumn, I’m anticipating the blaze of glory that’s about to light up all the trees without an ounce of help from anything pumpkin spice. (Love the spice, just not the accompanying commercial bandwagon.) ♦

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