by G.O. Clark The old poetsits by the windowin his ancestral farmhouse,along a New Hampshirerural highway. He looks out uponthe tree lush landscape,rain beads on the windowpane gently blurringthe scene. His gaze shifts tothe old wooden barn,once a working one filledwith farm tools, now justa still life. It’s enough in…
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Blank White Page
by Libby O’Connor I step out in the pristine snow and think, ‘a blank, white page,’ my footprints trail behind me as I travel onward, they punctuate my blank, white page -with essence of me.