The old grain mill stands abandoned peering
over the green edged cliff- A silent sentry-
Silver cloth flapping in the gentle autumn wind,
hiding broken boards, like a hand before lost teeth.
An amber buried path, mud slippery, and rock steep
cuts through iron, nickel and copper cliff veins.
A jutting precipice-a test of waxing courage-
takes note of young feet running- one step and leap-
Whoosh- A wind swallowed scream, thrush and gulp-
A mouth full of moss tossed deep to mark the feat.
One snap, the flash and this breathe stands fast-
the rush and fall now caught in Polaroid’s firm grasp
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