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| View from the center |
The day was my mandala.
I began at the perimeter
and worked my way in,
first light like a ghost
in the woods to the east,
last light like coals
behind Laurel Ridge.
At the center I sat on the hill,
the dog snuffling deep in the field
where goldenrod shook,
swallows diving and looping above us,
awe billowed into the sky,
limned as the towering clouds,
a life at my back.
I wasn't alone.
