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White Birds in Another Life She stands, arms at her sides, red hair brushed back, head turned to gaze across a spindly picket fence, horizon reddened by the sinking sun. Or is it the pink of dawn that draws her patient stare? Is she waiting for someone to return, or is she wondering how she landed here, white apron crisp and circled with moons? The dark sky pulses with the green of life, verdant but half-seen, her dreams in the distance, white birds winging in formation toward an unknown destination. Her heart lifts, then falls, she hears the birds call out her name. She keeps her outer calm, but deep inside her heart responds. In another life she knows she wouldn’t stay. A wind would rise to give her wings, carry her away. Field of Embers She stands in a field of embers, orange flames leaping up around her red-hot cinders sizzling in the sky like malevolent stars. She is resigned, calm amid devastation, her sad eyes closed and shyly downcast, awaiting the outcome. She makes no effort to flee. Did she set this fire or did it erupt spontaneously, inevitably, despite her efforts to create a happy life? She clutches a tiny house in her arms. Tall boots protect her feet, but her hair is wrapped neatly with a bow, and her dress is demure, fashioned of blue sky and fluffy clouds, flowers dotting a border of green. How can she remain coolly steadfast as her dreams burn to ashes around her? She stands there, as if condemned, consigned to immolation by her choices holding her dreams in her hands trying to protect her vision of home. Debora Tremont
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June 2026
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