10.20.2016

long miles of trees

red white pine,

poplar, scrub,

a moosey place

and over a hill

in the road

there he is

lumbering, clopping

sunken horsey hips,

akimbo

ambling forward,

black against the

northern sky

he notices us

considers and turns

into the woods

no panic

just gone.

a moosey tale

for the moosey trail.

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