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.:. The Uncompahgre Range 18 We wake to see how everything reaches up blue spruce and aspen on the mountain, the mountain itself ragged fields of snow above timberline day by day cut into new shapes by the summer sun into stars, birds a hand, one crooked white finger pointing upward We wake to see the high eight-sided window its clear and stained glass filling with light awakening stunned flies and bees from their cold night of sleep on its sill so now they crawl about and sing The fresh air beyond is filled with a light snow blowing we see when we rise and stand, our faces to the window from great cottonwoods in full bloom along the river its falling waters filling with their Rowers and above all the white and black wings of magpies riding whirlwinds of cottonwood snow noisy birds of joy 19 ...

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