December 6

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The wind spent itself
last night–

it’s now so still,
the noise

from the far road
drifts up

from the valley
like some distant

ocean roar.
The morning

hesitates–
the sun didn’t show,

so must it go on?
Nothing moves,

not a single thing,
no bird, no branch,

not even the wind
-slackened  maples

down the bank–
the air is thick

with deliberation.

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