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backwoods trails,
scrambling over logs,
ducking branches,
scratching arms

grouse and partridge
mad flapping wings…
quiet, still,
awaiting
danger to pass

underbrush clears,
leaves crunch
between tall stately trees
reaching forever

golden hawks circle
(they always do),
clouds drift slowly,
magic descends

i think of places
from where we’ve come
and what it took to get here —
we are blessed