Walking from the BarnAt the pasture’s distant edge,Spines of twisted trees, branchesKnitting the waning gray lightfall sky.My breath vapors form cloudsIn the air smelling of snow.Crows, in curved flight, caw Their roosting hour notes,Rising as if released fromSheet music uplifted on wings.Aroused, sniffing in circles,The dog barks at scentsAlong a rutted path, thenFollows me toward

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