Just beyond the window where I sit, clouds drape a mountain range in a blanket of cotton, and barren trees, limbs spindled, stand silhouetted against a steel-gray lake and sky. Winter clings, her sterile grasp firm.
All is still.
Dormant.
Lifeless.
Just as hope seems to wane, a gaggle of geese, honking their arrival, shatter the stillness. They glide in for…
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