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DEER AT TWILIGHT
Dim half light, the orchard exhaling its last breath, as evening makes all colors equal— reds, blues, greens, now shades of gray. And here come the deer tiptoeing down the trail, hesitant, tentative, ready to bolt, flick their white tails, disappear in the hedgerow. This is summer's end, leaves flaring red and gold, and the garden is dwindling, as days grow shorter. Whose name do we hear in the slow tones the owl calls to its mate in the thickening dusk?
~Barbara Crooker |
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