#13 winter solstice 2013

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As we finished dinner tonight we heard a fox calling in the moonlit night air. The dog whined at the door and we let her out. To our ear she ran the opposite direction of the sound, perhaps she could smell something we could not see.

_MG_9465.jpg"I don't think there is anything balanced about artistic creation at all, I think it's a lopsided way of being, an obsessive and off-balance way of perceiving and being in the world; I mean most people when they see a baby fox playing with butterflies don't have to write a poem about it, especially a poem where the baby fox winds up dead on the side of the road with butterflies gamboling around its splayed intestines."
-- Mary Ruefle

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