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Winter Wind
Leaf-laden lately, beech limbs once reached the ground, swaying. Lightened now, choreic, bare, they twitch. An abandoned wasp nest scuds across the yard. The nest is dashed against the...
Quaker Meeting, Late Winter
I watch the dust motes dance, be tossed on eddies in the sun-streak in its minute advance across the meetinghouse floor then see the gnarled man rise and move...