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Saturday, November 19, 2016

Fleeing Paradise










Sitting in the chair,
I feel so comfortable.
Why can't I just sleep?















There will be magic--
On the road, in the bushes,
There's always magic.
















Three swings and three chairs:
Three dimensionality;
A sunny morning.























Slow late November,
Feeling like Indian summer;
Suspiciously warm.













Out of the shadows
And into the bright sunlight
She walks joyously.













Silhouetted high
Gentle insistent tapping--
Woodpecker hunting.












Dashing squirrel on road
Barely missed by speeding car,
Lives another day.













This sweet sunny day
Cars come ripping down the road
Fleeing paradise.













Perched on a tree top
Crow calls out to near and far:
"Know that I am here!"







































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