“Just A Mile Away”


Sanford airport said

twenty-seven froze degrees:

here, I check. No ice!*

 

  • (But that afternoon I go check on the sweet potato bucket farms and notice the upended garbage-can impromptu birdbath has one-quarter inch of ice floating as a unified foe above a very cold lake.  No other ice on similar solid – or extemporaneous – such bird-pool on the other three cardinal points of the house.  The Florida native “Sleeping Hibiscus” cuss me as I walk the northern border and witness their dire straits: they will require much surgery and I will compost them under a tall hedge.  Some of the ‘biscus shoots o’er-topped the Bald Cypress youth on that North side, just past the 10-foot marker of the rooftop.)

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