Just as the sun strikes my face, in the corner of my eye a hawk sweeps into the woods. She ghosts past, flared tail orange among the leaves.
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Just as the sun strikes my face, in the corner of my eye a hawk sweeps into the woods. She ghosts past, flared tail orange among the leaves.
Comments are closed.
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This is exquisite.
Love the idea of writing from one’s front porch, something every day. (I found your blog via Hannah S./The Storialist!)
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Hey, thanks for stopping by!