So quiet, the downy woodpecker tapping a dead branch sounds as loud as a pile driver. High overhead, the half moon like a big right ear.
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So quiet, the downy woodpecker tapping a dead branch sounds as loud as a pile driver. High overhead, the half moon like a big right ear.
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How easy to lose oneself to silence in this
sifting of white upon white that’s fallen
all night long. The wind soughs,
and all the branches nod their white-
capped heads. The neighbor swings open
his gate to take the dog for a walk–
Away now, at the end the street, the yellow
of his parka and the flash of golden fur
make an orb of jaunty noise against the snow.
High overhead, the half moon bends its big right ear.
Luisa A. Igloria
~ 12 26 2010