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Our soul is escaped as bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken
and we are escaped. Psalms 124: 7
Two days before spring
Bluejays tried to escape
With hurried wings.
As the cruel frigid air
Whips them in shape.
Late winters snare
Blows lots of snow
O'er them and below..
Poetry by me AJP
This was a grab shot of two bluejays that were on the bird feeder during the late winter storm
and caught them just before they left...
Also by Andrea Petersen
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