In early winter,
I walk the river’s edge
as snow falls silent
as a dove’s wing
on the mountain.
Scattered flakes whirl,
lifted by the wind
as a pair of mallards
bob and circle
near a giant boulder
where the eddy
lies calm. Soon,
the ducks will take flight
and escape the maelstrom
sent from the north.
As I cross the footbridge,
I stop and look back
in time to see them
lift off
over the rippling water.
How I envy their freedom,
the ability to fly away,
while all I can do is trudge
toward home as the storm
swallows my footsteps.
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