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I could hear a lonely cricket searching for its mate in the tall grass. The cows, grunting, eased their way to the fence line, sucking the cool breeze. Part of the fence was blown sideways and the cows were forming a line to break through. I heard their c
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Cinnamon and smoke
infuse the days that shorten,
chill, accelerate.
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the neighborhood glistens, silver,/
in an otherwise sad November/
light
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The stars align against us. Lines of force/
collaborate to push us off the edge/
into the dark abyss we’ve joked about.
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Two weeks after All Souls’ Day, he trudges through the overgrown pasture behind the farmhouse, his head bent, intent on his footing, a shovel his walking stick.
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