A pair of ducks fly silently through the trees: the mallards who return every spring to nest on the mountain, a mile from the nearest pond.
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A pair of ducks fly silently through the trees: the mallards who return every spring to nest on the mountain, a mile from the nearest pond.
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Landscape, with Returning Things
From a nest on the mountain, from the skirt
of the nearest pond– something has flown away
in another time. Currents spill their salt
and the earth changes garments. And yes
it is a different season, but somehow the same.
What returns arrows silently through the trees.
Fear does the same things over. And love?
The heart resolves to face, or not to face.
The head says keep, the heart says bend.
What can we do but begin.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
03 29 2011
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