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| Laurel Ridge. Click to expand. |
A lady rain danced its pavane,
then a warmer evening,
crickets quicker in the jagger patch.
Too easy to think back,
the woods yellowing around me,
scenes of a life pooling with leaves.
In the bruised light of autumn,
with its sweet scent of decay
and the weather degrading,
I wouldn't call it loss,
I'd call it clearing.
—"Lady rain" is what farmers in my family called a light, steady rain.
