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By M.E. Hope It is snowing here though the lilacs have crimson leaf buds erect against the gray morning. In the lone evergreen along the stream a cardinal has chosen to startle the sepia background and he moves like an exclamation mark against the horizon; his color blinding the dull clouds. Burgundy shoots, like diminutive tongues, poke through the warming beds: the soil unfastened as winter dissolves. Between gray and brown where the down meets the trees paused for spring a flash greets the eye the pewter water reflecting white. A solitary crocus lost among the lawn's blonde spikes paints one lone violet stroke. And the lilac bush, so skeletal, holds its buds gingerly toward the light. |
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Document last modified on: 11/05/2004