Elizabeth Lyvers's

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Savoring Time

It smells like wood smoke here. There are reflections of trees in the water, bits of yellow and orange contrasted against a gray sky. In the distance a dog barks. Below, the river sleeps. The movement of water is so gentle it could deceive you into thinking it’s not moving at all, just breaths of wind along the surface.  I come to this swing to think. I try to write, but oftentimes I’m distracted by the oldness of this place,...