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Dusts of snow edge the earth,
uneven lines mark sun-warmed pavers.
With under-parts protected, statuary
gather new relief, dying grasses open
in broad pompons, perennial stalks crisscross
into heavy mounds of gold, pine tufts
reach out in a first, mourning grace.
All else hushes, runs for cover,
but our small, neglected garden unfolds,
yawns wide welcoming arms.
To find the beauty in every season, in the places where others aren’t looking…
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Thanks. Sometimes that is the best we can do —
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and it is worth a lot ❤
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