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We venture out
Just as the edges
Of the light crease
The sky.
The shift change
Of nature charges
The woods with
Purpose and
Craving.
Silent wings
Flash in the periphery,
The night-time hunter
Abandoning the search
To seek safety
As he becomes the
Hunted.
The pink of the sky
Touches the
Fresh snow.
The day has
Begun.

Categories: Poetry