refreshing, this February air.
this arctic blast.
how it stings gaily at my face
as I go down
through the woods, the lake,
a familiar
and well worn path.
the water is more blue than
ever.
a shimmering sheet of metal,
the sky and green, the cold
rocks
and sand below.
few are out in this wind.
even the birds are lying low.
which makes
it even better.
quiet being gold.
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