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Thraji and Latusha like going outAuthor's Notes
to gather food and useful materials.
They pick their way through the forest,
hands ever busy at their baskets.
The autumn sun clings to the horizon,
a low spark of gold through golden leaves
and the white trunks of the birch trees.
Here and there stands a shadowy spruce.
Thraji finds some frostberries
and plucks them from the knee-high bush,
their brown spheres turned mushy and sweet
after autumn's frozen touch.
Latusha picks handfuls of usenaard,
the stringy moss that grows on spruces:
pale green for medicinal use,
black for starting fires.
Thraji breaks cottonwood buds
from a sapling beside the creek,
the cold making them less sticky
but still good for making salve.
Latusha cuts pieces of feshern,
the shelf fungus on dead birch trees,
saving it for next summer
to smoulder as insect repellent.
Soon it will be winter, the northern autumn
no more than a brief flicker of season.
Thraji and Latusha relish their last trip
before winter closes its curtains over the world.
This poem came from the September 2012 Muse Fusion. It was inspired by a prompt from Ellen Million. It has been posted as the freebie for this session.
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