Wednesday, January 1, 2014

January 1

New Year’s Day, bright dawn. Crows calling in the trees near the swamp; chickadees flitting and calling in the orchard. Waxwings drink from the ever-liquid frog pond. The seed catalogs have come. Things look good.

Corgis scent along
trails we have not mowed in years—
I stick to the path.

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