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Poetry

04/06/2016

Photo by Anne Wicks

 

Easter Mountain

As dusk settles over
the blue mountains
I drop my pack
near the garden
at the end of my hike.

Through the long night
I sit alone by the fire
waiting as smoke flows
over the darkness of
earth and sky.

Then as dawn approaches
a warm scent sifts
through the redwoods
I waken, rub my eyes,

then stand and bow
before the mighty wind
coming through
the world.

By Michael Dallaire