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  • Bruce Siebold


Upon an trail on Eighty Acres, I discovered scattered woodpecker feathers. I stopped, knelt and tried to piece together this woodpecker's story. I wondered if the woodpecker's eyes had ever met mine? Did I hear its song? Did it taste the suet from the feeder? Did it dance in the sky above Eighty Acres? Soon the wind will blow the feathers away. Others will be covered with snow. Maybe a few will be used for nest building. For a moment I linger and ponder the sadness of one's life, if their story is forever untold. I slowly stood and continued my walk down the trail.

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