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Mississippi at Cape Girardeau in January
Flying above the river, I could see the ice and a barge with its path cut behind it in the river. Then, standing on the shore in town, I could watch a barge making its way downriver, while the ice continued to slowly melt. And I remembered stories of ice skating on the frozen river when I grew up by it. Still the same—changed in so many ways . . .
And this from Basho:
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.