Poetry |
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I sit on the porch watching the white heron
Striding around the edge of the small lake Accompanied by its dark shadow Lying on the water’s smooth surface Ducklings leave an ever-widening wake Egrets and curlews search for breakfast A man in a cherry picker prunes browning fronds From stately green palms across the pond He drops coconuts to his colleagues Who slash them and quench their thirst with fresh milk A week later I watch from my front window The snow is gathering quickly, piling up I cannot see details on my neighbor’s house Our short street, yet unplowed, is not defined It is silent -- the snow threatening but protecting I pull my favorite shawl about my shoulders As I read the last of the Swedish trilogy A cup of Swiss Miss to warm me from inside out Content to be indoors at my cozy northern home February 4, 2011
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