INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Chris Lord
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RETURNING TO FEED walking in a north woods I watch an eagle, nesting high in tall trees, glides in over the lake returning to feed its young. in silence I stand. my sight fixed on such a natural spectacle I can but stare & not forget. perhaps, sitting astride their ponies, generations before me, cresting a hill during a morning's hunt, some forefathers chanced upon such a scene, as I have, & in doing so were, like I am, momentarily overcome & sat as transfixed as I am following the bird's flight & movement while noticing feather & form, then sigh as they draw another breath. I, too, do now. Running Cub, Everglades
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