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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #571912
a journey at dawn to a familiar island place
I wake and dress still bathed in darkness
and emerge to a field of dark familiar shapes
picking my way up the path, up the hill
the dewberries cling to my ankles
as if to urge me to linger with them, but I press on.

Past the birch grove and into the woods
the patch of ferns softens the noise as I pass
over the fallen tree, up the rise, and I see my goal.
The old pine leaning out from the granite cliff
spreading her limbs to the river below.

I slide against bark like an old friend
and settle into the lap of her roots and watch.
As the sun rises over the river, a loon calls.
And I know again in a changing world that
some things never will, and I smile.
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