October 26th 2016

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picking
····the last morning glory—the girl tries to put it
········back
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The snow today, like tiny marbles, rolled into the brittle palms of the leaves. So little only collected briefly  before turning to drops of icy water and blanching whatever leaf, limb or stone was landed on. This time of year reminds me of one of my favorite Frost passages from The Onset:
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Always, the same, when on a fated night
At last the gathered snow lets down as white
As may be in dark woods, and with a song
It shall not make again all winter long
Of hissing on the yet uncovered ground,
I almost stumble looking up and round…
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355 October 26th 2016 | bottlecap
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