View From Mary Flynn’s Bench
The view from Mary Flynn’s bench is sublime in early spring.
Legions of gray cumulus wash over the Berkshires
Leaving traces of dappled shadow much as the ripples of spent waves on ocean shores.
The meadow grass bends to the fresh west wind
Halting only momentarily at the edge of the forest upturning the new green of maple and beech; the rust of oak.
Great fortune in being on the right planet, beside the right star at the right time.
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