It is Halloween;
Yesterday's storm has passed us;
The sky is still gray.
Deafening silence;
Then, the buzzing of a fly,
And a swishing car.
Strewn across my stream--
A piece of the ancient tree,
Dead for decades now.
Thick the gray clouds now;
Broken trees along the road;
Swift, the stream rushes.
Most trees are bare now;
Wind has stripped away their leaves.
Crow calls in gray sky
Old brown rotting tree
Crumbling into the ground;
Returns to the earth.
A swirling of wires
Lying so innocently;
Are they live or dead?
Gun shots in the woods
Thud out like fire crackers
Or gray tympani.
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