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| 'Fog Descending' • Acrylic on canvas ©Jerry L. Kirk |
MOUNTAIN WINTER WALK
The trees breathe whispers
that only I can hear. Blue
mountains fade as fog
clings desperate and
enveloping. Black hawk
against greying sky.
The sprinkle spit of snow
an annoying tease. Paper
thin crinkle to remaining
leaves crunch crunching
under foot. Shadows stretch
long fingers across the hard
hard earth as crooked trees
reach skinny limbed up, up,
touching God's sleeve.
The tranquility of isolation.
A slow, deliberate seduction.
The echo of whispers caressing
my cold, cold ears.
©Jerry L. Kirk

















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