Barbara RyderLevinson


Sometimes it was early morning.
Sometimes in later golden light, when the air was clear and perfect as diamond dust.

You did not hear them.
You did not smell them though I suppose if you were closer and the wind was right...

One hundred feet away they silently appeared, cutting the brown-green, dry bush; gods entering our lives to grace us with their presence. You never knew when their gray necklace of two or three would slowly roll in, a band of liquid silver, soundless, constant, u

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