I had my first suspicions
when all of the ravens
flew north for the winter.
Everything seeded early
yet leaves clung to the trees
like it was going out of style
and squirrels cowered in the branches
instead of heading for my eaves
when the deep frost lowered.
Outside my window
life crouches against the earth
so as not to call attention.
I cannot change voices in this verse
to speak for the sparrow
chipping at the ice
not wanting to die of thirst
but I will call the answer
if one is given.
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