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Slower Paths
A chill wind snatches his thoughts away.
Arctic crocodiles slip up and down his spine.
There was a time
when deep winter walking was a brisk challenge,
but that younger man
is now, way ahead of him,
from far away he can hear a faint whistling.
Top of a small hill, he pauses, puff and spittle,
some nasal dripping. Ear-bells singing - warning,
his eyes slowly clearing.
He thinks about rags on stilts,
laughs at the thought that he can now
really scare crows.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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