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April 1, 2012 vol 8 no 1

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Ken Jones

The Path

Our path fades out
as time fades out
he passes her the compass

Twisting the map, he peers at the faint pecked line of an ancient and elusive path. "North by north-west, pussy cat!" She squints at the flickering needle. . Points a steady arm. "North by north-west, pug dog!"

Whooping down hill in a shower of pebbles and dead leaves, splashing across the stream, and up into the trees, before they're out of breath. And, behold! the old path awaits them.