Fox Tale
the yellow of the grasslands flexed:
a stretching gush of lions
speckled with manes of raspberry thorns.
they greeted the bay with a stark whip,
leaping into nowhere,
past a pure of azure and a few sparse ribs
but no sun.
far from the lions,
spruce in spotty acres
might have been reaching up
proud and exhilarant
or convulsed by rage.
axes of wind, swung by
northeastern cold, had splintered
flanks of the evergreens
and tumbled them to the ground
where
the cracked trunks attracted a fox,
rusty yet warm of tangerine,
a vibe as plush as it was lithe,
curving through a whirl of pounce
to pluck a squirm of gopher.
off then, quick as a flirt,
smudged by the terre-verte
of the madcap groves.
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7/29/25 same day mods... all day .. mods
A look at Down East Maine before some of the significant global warming effects, when there were more spruce and few maples.
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