Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
Photo by C Scodova
Down the dark lane we go,
early morning, tending
her departure for school.
My daughter and I in the small refuge of our car,
waiting for the bus beneath the pines'
windy singing;
the parched leaves' melodies of streams:
our quiet listening
in a diminishing sphere of light,
haunted by losses
and the inexplicable.
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