Saturday, December 22, 2007


Leaving a trail of wet fields, mists moved snail-like through the colored leaves of this Mississippi morning.

All day long as we drive home from field work, I gather up the grasshoppers of passing landscapes into the Mason jar of my mind. When we stop for gas or sandwiches, I shake the jar a little, and let them all go.

For a hundred miles now
his silence
and mine,
no need to people them
with fictions.

by Gary LeBel
Cumming, Georgia

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