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Wednesday, February 11, 2015

With Hollow Whispers







 Racing silhouettes:
Squirrels racing across the wires
Hurry toward the dawn.






 
 






Bright sunlight patches
Lie like quilt work on my lawn.
Ice shines in the trees.






 




Cloud burst in the sky--
Mysterious cone of white
Hovers and dissolves.




 






In the frozen stream
Rounded sensuous shapes lie
As if in deep sleep.





 





Fuel trucks come and go
Chugging slowly on the road.
The forest lies still.




 





Colorful road sign,
Washed, scrubbed by sun, snow, wind, rain;
Now, piece of found art.



 






 The seed puffs have flown;
Just the empty husks remain
With hollow whispers.




































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