Tag Archives: winter

winter crow

it glides silent black phantom in the pale air an open fist of black pen strokes beyond a frieze of black branches its call drifts nowhere

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artist

Old Bob, now: he didn’t just shovel snow like the rest of us; he’d sculpt it. Oh, he’d clear the driveway, walk, of course; but it was what he did with the snow: shoveling was just a process of gathering … Continue reading

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speculation

you can’t drink whisky outdoors when snow hovers over the ground and ice is what trickles from your nose in self-defense and breath is fire that you inhale through a hard wool scarf and fingers exposed turn raw red then … Continue reading

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