SOMETHING to REMEMBER the
FOREST BY
The dog and
I had come to the end of the wooded trail, just before the parking lot started,
and that’s where someone had set up a souvenir shop. It wasn’t much more than a
bus stop. A table was piled with autumn leaves, branches, pine cones, stones
from the creek. I picked up a soft owl feather and set it down. I listened to
the field recording of wind in the trees.
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