In the still air, a small disk of ash falls spinning like a demonic snowflake. The sun smolders on the ridgetop between columns of oaks.
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In the still air, a small disk of ash falls spinning like a demonic snowflake. The sun smolders on the ridgetop between columns of oaks.
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Paired or unpaired, all in the world
yet moves forward–
A smudge of ash falls through the still air, fragile as a snowflake; nuns’ shoes of molded blue rest by the temple doorstep, inscribed with names and messages.
Together, hundreds of fish that have perished in the rivers; thousands of red-winged birds tumbling out of the sky.
Today, only the sun smolders on the ridgetop
between columns of oaks.
Even this not-speaking is speaking to me.
And tomorrow?
Nothing to do but steel the heart again for the crossing;
wait for the fog to clear.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
01 06 2011
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