on the banks in the freezing cold
Thursday, February 3rd, 2011The creek runs low this
time of year. The critters are
in hiding somewhere.
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The creek runs low this
time of year. The critters are
in hiding somewhere.
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They wouldn’t, couldn’t
stick around any longer.
New horizons called.
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Wherever the head
went, the hat stayed on top of
it, perched and ready.
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“I need you to do
me a favor.” The eight most
dreaded words ever.
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