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FJ Poetry reading: In L.A. it opens and drags down whole buildings. Here, in Vermont, the woods resound / with the crack of trees under ice. No one is safe: / cars have been sliding off the road on broken bridges, / on slick roads black with cold.

FJ Poetry: Everywhere the earth is speaking.

I don’t know if it was because the season had been unusually wet, or if it was just the time…

A great swoop over my head, and a steady beat of wings. Suddenly a dark shape banks, turns, and disappears…