It is World Poetry Day. A day that I, a less prolific poet than I wish to be, hold dear in my heart. By some twist of scheduling, it is also the International Day of Forests. A day to recall the woodlands of childhoods well spent, the mystique of ecosystems.

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Hastening On

This morning, like every morning, I shut the door behind me and walked through the morning-lit park into town. Except this morning, the birds that graced the frost-laden lawn were gulls and mallards, not the chattering jays of Riegrovy.

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