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Volume 2 Issue 2
Page 18
Like smoke, the clouds drifted
across the sky,
and the sky was as indigo as
could be –
The moon was gold as a
Spanish doubloon,
and stars flitted like fish
in the sea.

Had I not looked down to the
snow for bearing,
where chips of ice reflected
the light,
and the shadows of trees
were sharpened
silhouettes against this most
perfect white,

I would have been drawn up
into that sea
to plumb the depths of that
endless blue –
to follow schools of stars, or
dance the tides;
to be free to be what I
want to do.
Snowfall in Washington
By Reneé Dodds