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September in the Pacific Northwest

By E. M. Burton-Crow

It was one of those damp mornings,

Clouds clinging to the tops of the pines,

The kind the Pacific Northwest is famed for,

Almost too beautiful to be real.

The sunlight pierced through,

Its rays speckling the forest floor,

Catching the wing of a woodpecker

On his way to drum up breakfast.

September has arrived and with it,

The return of endless rain.

The Wild Ones are thankful:

The blackberries ripening again.

So too, the salmon have returned

to their ancestral rivers,

Those veins upon the landscape

Echoing our own.

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