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Pat Leudy has gone somewhere.
The sky and trees, reflected once in the creek, are reflected again in my thoughts. These are not the black trees written on a light gray sky that small black words bring to mind. But, green and living, they stretch to grasp the sun, lobsterlike in living claws.
December 1975Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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