47 6 5
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My whiskey drunk, I twist around to catch the white blur of the great horned owl as it swoops from telephone pole to fence post, ears alert, ready to undermine the idea of calm and quiet I’d let settle over me as I drained my glass.
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1400
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to just get up in the morning and be awake again to the same facts. I don't need someone like you telling me to shift my attention at will to pleasant meadows and walk away from the terrible past as a spirit. Time is all in the snow and so…
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