I pause in woods one winter day   when leaves stick to the ground, and twigs and trunks stand stiff & straight -  a breeze the only sound.  It's a world without walls or bounds,  but one can't see a mile. One's sightline is obscured by trees --  their trunks not single file.  A world, at once, open & shut  to eyes and ears and mind. But I've never felt so at home,  for i'm no lonesome pine.
   							  		
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