announcing the oncoming storm.
I left the safety of barn
and fenced field, struck
out on well-worn paths
through unfamiliar forest.
Leaves turned, waited
for the onslaught which did
not come.
The air lifted, clouds parted
and still I walked on--
stumbled upon an old gypsy
wagon, half buried, missing
a wheel.
The waning moon will be
no help.
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