The Stranger
Even the red neon from town glowing
through the snowy woods seems right.
As I step out the back porch the last
mantle of clouds lifts from
a new covering of snow on Sangre Mountain.
A final flake drops with a small hiss
into my cup of black coffee
and I wave back to a stranger
who´s come out around the bend
of the white road.
Copyright © Douglas Lawder | Year Posted 2008
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