Unmufflement
Mild rain,
the sort that barely damps. Muffled by a coat hood, walk the rough path to the
woods. Wide pools of floodwater in the low fields, reflecting sky. Lively
birds, fresh storm felled branches and an old shoulder bone is what we meet on
the path.
January is
gone, like a bottle on a tide, holding a rolled up list of wishes. Have more
fun, I asked of myself, be open to riches, and don't talk about, do it. Little
decisions, they add up.
Slide back
the coat hood, under the trees, listen to the rain, symphonic, in the open-palm
reach of the evergreens.
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