To the Hall

And we were caught off-guard
when the music that greeted us
at the edge of that campfire’s light
was played not by a human hand
but by that of a deer.
Dressed as we might
for being out in the cold
(admittedly strange)
the thing leaned back against a rock
holding a banjo
while wisps of smoke filed from the blaze
and up into its November antlers
casual as a passing breeze.

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