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Transmuted Sand

My art this past month is filled with winged things. Perhaps it is because I feel the pulse of the year’s heartbeat rushing past me in a swirl of weather and seasons. The passage catches me up like a whirlwind of wings. The trees are alight with blazing colored leaves. The rare rain seeps across the windowsill. The crows in the park grow brave and chase off the resident red-tailed hawk. Just for a day. She is ensconced in the branches of her throne once again on the following morning. Generally it is a truce of mutual ignoring with the …

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