Autumn’s first snow
Fresh over fallen, dry leaves
Small white flakes
Flirting through bare branches of Beech
Lighting on hemlock boughs
I outstare a whitetail at thirty paces
With not even a camera to shoot itAfter a few precious moments it scrambles away
A military jet strafes the tree tops
At near supersonic speedReminding me that freedom has its costs
At twenty-two degrees
This November Canaan afternoon offers
Retreat, solace, renewal
Balm for a bruised soul
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