Are these different, these photos, from each other? Are morning waves in Crystal Lake, moved by a northwestern soft wind, different from one another? The leaves, the maple leaves? Even Colleen, in whose house I wake, a third morning ... are we altogether different, distinct? Twenty-five miles south of the Canadian border, beside a lake filled with Canadian geese trying to decide, I think, if they are altogether for the journey south, or not. Route 5 traffic interrupts thoughts, but a still photo is a still photo still. Early November. Barton.
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