I'm down at Potato Creek, snuggled in a cabin watching the icy trees. Rebecca was kind enough to give the poetry thing a go. Here's her untitled creation:
Lightly, under sprinting clouds
I run against the translucent blow
Of cooling wind that seeks my collar
And clings to my skin as sensate pleasure
I shake off the burden of a day
Gone wrong and the wooden smile
I wore to fool the foolish
Folk I served who thought themselves worthy
Genuine goodness turned to product for trade
I am paid to be tame, a benign rabbit
But now I run and growl and sing – fire and storm
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