Waiting

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In the clear cold of a December morning,

as a last leaf gently floats down

from a branch reaching high toward blue sky,

while below water battles ice for rule over silver ribbons

that mark now too obvious wooded ravines,

and a piercing sharp sun

leaves behind deep shadows

exposing naked trees and fading leaf covered hillsides,

the land quietly waits for a warm blanket of snow.

xxx

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Thanks for stopping by.