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Somewhere a Bird Sings a Foreign Song






Somewhere a Bird Sings a Foreign Song

 

Verbena twists in a morning breeze and somewhere a bird I cannot see sings a song I’ve never heard. Yesterday’s winds are muted now, leaving behind a steady coolness that flows with liquid grace around me, like river water parting for a boulder in its center. Countless summers ago, when I was eight or ten or twelve, Grandma paid me a nickel to weed her garden. A nickel bought an ice cream cone then.


Judith Kelly Quaempts


Judith Kelly Quaempts lives and writes in rural eastern Oregon. Her short stories and poetry appear online and in print, most recently in Windfall, The Crafty Poet II: A Portable Workshop, and Women's Voices, an anthology published by These Fragile Lilacs Press.

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