When the blue shadows
Pull themselves across the hills
And white sinks to the twilight
The blue snow of twilight
There's an illution of beginning
Here, where the field intersects the sky
Beyond the fence
Where the crystals slowly scurry
from the hills
It is a foreign house
There's nothing to unpack
It is not yet night
And the day with it's silence
Refused to talk
The day is gone
It is a blessing
Let it be a blessing.
(from, feminine winter cold, Sarah Mclay)
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