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Friday, March 11, 2011

March dribbles - 9

Dust in the wind, storm-blown detritus of winter’s deceit, ashes of autumn covering the promise of spring—March wind, march, wind, over memories and me.

Whirling in air, dust-clouds gather and somebody’s there but unformed still, unmade. The storm takes me away.

Dust in the wind remembers, remembering His day.

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