Thursday, April 17, 2014



The Hairy Woodpeckers are rat-tat-tatting the poplars. My eyes drink in the steadfast green of the spruce branches, lit as if from within by the morning sun. A small grey moth flickers past my window. Life flutters by--I can never quite catch up with it.

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when trees as gilded as bees

Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth. I had begun to transl...

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