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 DAY

DAY
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
COytoe
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
115
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
CharlaXFabels
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
Howmanymiriclesdoewewant?
 The day begins at midnite thirty long before the people arise the animals that sleep in daytime they surmise they surmise that night has been created just for them the critter seemed a coyote but it moved more like a cat perhaps a lynx a bobcat with the pointed ears so tuft it looked just like a smaller dog but moved too fast and slickly slid on paws with claws not toes she moved her head from side to side to find to seek her prey her food her life. So far from home the mountain den where many more of her kind may live she was a blessing in disguise. This homeless man gave thanks that she was smaller in her size than mountain cats can be she paused and then she disappeared from me she went so fast she can not stand the smell of alien. Perhaps she made a kill a rabbit for the test of plain old western survivalism she had to eat meat to live her just one more day.  The nite was cold in blankets then eye arose. Eye noticed the odd silence the birds like doves are nesting all warm in feathers and the nest keeps them from cold. No noises then a friend eye met suggested this idea to me a new spring day he said to me why don't  yew write one about a new spring day. The noises were a melody the thing eye noticed most was the voice of each and every little ghost the bird's eye could not see so many different species the sparrows and the marybirds they made music just for me my friend was not even listening but he was enjoying the sunshine and the work that he was given and the life that we all have so eye am BOLDEN eye am BIDDEN to enjoin such a poem on a warm and springtime day refusing patterns of my disabilities marking time with furtive movements like the cat from the night before so long ago the hours gone the day approaching something like an orchestrated avalanche my friend you may not understand what you have given me and this fabel may be unexpected in a total misdirection you intended me to write about the day while hay is being but on farmlands the hitchhiker stands and beckons drivers for a moments halt in further than to add his mix to them to let ride come to him the farmer goes to town to get the snail mail from the postal and he frowns at the hitchhiker standing near the shade he stops and adds him to his mix and they both smile and the day has come to them awhile ago they both have made a friend have you heard the birds today the hitchhiker begins to paint a melody of CLOUDS have gone away from him. The farmer smiles and thinks why yes there was some doves eye hardly noticed them eye was looking at the clouds far too worried at the rain to hear the doves. YES he says out loud eye heard the doves.



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