Dear Jessie, 
As the moon lingers a moment over the Bitterroot's,
before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. 
I find I am humming, softly, 
not to the music, but to something else, some place else. 
A place remembered. 
A field of grass where no one seemed to have been, 
except the deer, 
and the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you, 
dancing in my awkward arms. 
Norman
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4 thoughts on “A River Runs Through It

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