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 Covenant You draw the bow of barbed wire, let me pass through to the pasture, to you and the other side. It is a good day to walk the rusty tallgrass sugared with snow, to measure your stride through the timber and swale. Giving me the lee,you track the wind. Cockleburs catch the laces of our boots; snow seeps through. And when a honey locust snags my cap, you laugh, and it makes me think of those damp Aprils we hunted bushels of mushrooms, and how winter offers us different things. But quail, you say, keep deep cover on afternoons as cold as this. We step and wait,step again. So what’s left to do but heave hedge balls into the ditch and hope for a covey to rise? ...

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