December 25

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Quick cold
when the sun fell
behind the butte,
but this day
was longer than
the last,
and so will
tomorrow
and the day
after that.

A pink-gold glow
on distant snow–
not many people
came out this far
this year,
the road is quiet
and distant lights
reflect off the lake,

so warmly,
a small city, now,
under a waxing
crescent–
still a coyote slinks
down the street,
hills and culverts
enough of a home,

he was probably
out somewhere
nearby as I
continued my walk
well into twilight,
happy to share
the piecemeal
peace, happy
to be happy,
happy to be.

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