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Old 12-29-2006, 08:30 AM   #20
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Join Date: May 2004
Location: l mn
Posts: 13,853
mid november and i'm standing outside in the garden watching the bonfire i've built of driftwood and leaves. letters for kindling and apples amongst the flames. the last of summer is dropping through the embers, and there's that perfume again. it's in the shade, rive gauche, nearly viburnum. iceblink hangs in solid air, a blank ness along the canal waits to be filled and given the silence, the promise of frost. i welcome this as something else: the taste of windfalls moving on the millstream, a faint god's partial emergence through yew and oak.

the riverbank is darkening now and fades. the garden is recovering its creatures: blackbird and crow sifting the dead in the still of the damsons, pipistrelle and frog insinuating dusk. across the estuary evening is bleeding the trees. my neighbour's garden blurs to smoke and rain: i'm thinking that strembonita is over the eastern horizon, standing in her own garden she rakes leaves then bends to clutch a handful of twigs and straw to breath a life into our fire.

Last edited by zero : 12-29-2006 at 08:44 AM.
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