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Fog in the pass
changes the sounds,
softens the cries of gulls.
Winter solstice night.
The city’s main intersection dark and silent.
At the centre of the crossroad
a figure stands, turning in place,
a crossing guard?
Great sandstone woman, lying at the entrance to the pass, guarding the rushing waters below.
Bring on the green powers of spring. . .
You robe your human muse in imagined fabrics, designed from the patterns of lichens and mosses . . .
She taught you to listen to the winds, the birds, the trees. . . .She remains the mystery . . . .
E-mail correspondence: possible subject for a New Year’s re-solution? Have a Happy New Year! May you have fulfilling correspondence!
Image inaction is not a form of imagination . . .
First in a series inspired by changes word processing programs make or do not make as we write.
From blank whiteness, you began a painting for him. Strong, large, raw, unplanned strokes.
Eagle, golden-featherer, high in the winter’s fog, recognizing the boy, turning . . .