dusky x-marked peepers sing,
words can't catch this sound.
Yet footfall crackling dry leaves
can capture . . . fearful silence.
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Waiting . . .
. . . waiting for bare branches to bear delicate leaves for fluctuating ice to become “Ice Out!” for shy shaded snows to boldl...
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I am waiting for you. Where do you wait? In Florida with retirees? South along the Gulf of Mexico? All the way home to sunny Mexico? Is anyo...
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