Feathering Milk Weed

Cedar shakes.

Pastoral dreams.

Enlightenment dangling…

Somehow, in between.

A simple gift given among the fire reds…and, rich greens.

Decadent dirt roads providing me with a diversity.

A luring contrast among all rights.

And, all the wrongs.

With enough summer windows closed.

Frost against my pain.

Much of the disquiet is not where my searching soul belongs.

To turn from the feathering milk weed.

To blind my eyes to the fresh autumn skies.

To fall victim to begrudged cries.

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