Morning coffee

Words form in the wild




Late autumn forest


Late autumn forest yellow gold leaves thin silver branches drawing white semi-light into crawling root darkness-not-darkness waiting-not-waiting for spring winter nothing dead nothing reborn tomorrow wind bent rattled touched hands forehead pressed into something TREE not solemn wise divine bone blood organ chakra signals to-from minds all hidden  born   moved    returned     hidden      born       moved        returned       




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This weekend, I started writing. Agnes said, “Let’s go.” We went. Paddled. Pitched the tent. Decided to sleep under the stars. Heard loons, owls and coyotes. Thought we could more-or-less spend the rest of our life in that moment. Got up early and paddled back. Saw some loons. Made it home in time for the protest.


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