on a gauzy october breeze tire swing sways rubber-garbed guillotine ballet sliver of moon perforates moldy gray clouds curl of smoke streams from brick-broken stack though the old house remains dark, shadowless amber-red lights recede: a waning 747 amid rural dereliction hoot owl punctures the hushed reclusive night gusty squalls spiral north, then northwest a chill intrusion, the mesmerizing yowl & snap a frigid perpetuity
Julie Allyn Johnson, a sawyer’s daughter from the American Midwest, loves walks in the woods, gravel-travel, photography, poetry and hiking in the Rocky Mountains. Her current obsession is tackling the rough and tumble sport of quilting. Her poetry appears in various journals including The Briar Cliff Review and Phantom Kangaroo.
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