.
The winter sun has a brilliance all its own
And it scans the mountains at a low angle
Almost horizontal now
And the air is dry and makes no resistance
To the weaker radiance that goes on forever
In summer the Appalachians are soft-shouldered
Almost cloudlike, each tree its own sphere of green
Running together as they grow
But winter shows the edges of land
The ridges are clean lines beneath the bony skeletons
Of the bare trees
At mid-day all is quiet, children are back at their desks
And it is too early for the plow or rake.
.
I am mid country, rolling on the strength of my own legs
Searching the distant, quiet mountainside
For some great bird that is bound to launch soundlessly
And soar above.
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