between rain

the cusp between rain and snow


the cusp between 26 and 27
(years) (old)


the cusp between bedrooms (the one I have now, and the one at the top of the stairs with a pink carpet that is recently empty, where i am camping out tonight)


the core of an apple, russet colored, on my empty plate


the quill of a porcupine, sitting on my shelf after our long day of tracking through the woods, which finally led us right up to its den in an abandoned culvert, in a stream, in a valley in the stand of hemlocks, and right up to its face staring back at us from deep inside the long dark tunnel after we shone a flashlight down it to see what we could see.

 

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