Business as usual
unaware of the calendar
a squirrel starts and stops
pokes his nose
between the arms of oak leaves
hoping . . .
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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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