Monday afternoon, along the creek, I found a copse of pines and entered there. It was a day of reckoning, I reckoned, facing forward, rooted in time’s peat. I crushed the needles in my hands and breathed. A white-throated sparrow flitted at my feet. It was a moment, in the pines, and I lived it.
in the pines
Posted by birds fly on March 22, 2012