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backwoods trails
scrambling over logs
ducking branches
scratching arms

grouse and partridge
mad flapping wings…
quiet, still
waiting
for 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

 

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