Tuesday, December 20, 2011

among the fall colors fading woods, the sound dark winter came first, somewhere in the trees, sore throat, devoid of sweetness. In its simplicity, without frills, echoing the call seemed to get some air time, mourning the death of the entire year. The raven flew to a small clear light flashes unable to get blue buying their feathers. He jumped on a fence post and, as noted, the bird lifted its wings and tail for a moment, a small operation to straighten their skirts.


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