Blue Ridge Home
Tall tales and poems in a secret mountain valley.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Mist in Morning
Mist down Blue Ridge.
Mist a myth.
No?
It speaks
in whispers on week-day morns.
Lept-year into
new M
arch
as fresh bright greens giggle
at early
bud.
Barn owl settles for calm
after winter
in winded
hollows.
Ever heard his cry?
Jump.
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