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Pictures on a Calendar

Writer's picture: Darkling ThrushesDarkling Thrushes

Updated: Jun 14, 2024

Spring, my youngest child, 

Here’s looking at you, kid! 

A river splashes and babble’s, 

Through mountains of 

 

Hungry flowers spread-out, 

Like decorations that fall 

Out of boxes, left on steps, 

Of the cabin built in winter. 

 

Summer, the humid pines, 

Have grown into gorgeous 

Creatures. Still branches 

Block light by the old 

 

Dilapidated woodshed. 

Afternoon airs are cool, 

Where rapid ants are 

Devouring a fallen bird. 

 

Autumn, a call from 

Down the distant valley, 

An abandoned school, 

Is being reabsorbed. 

 

Flashes of silver trout, 

Break the surface of 

Sproat Lake, momentarily 

Disturb the calm. 

 

Winter turned hard, 

And icy, beneath a log, 

It is a freezing racoon. 

Cursing blinding fog. 

 

But our toes are snug, 

And the stitches of 

Our blankets will hold, 

For the spring-thaw.

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