J. E. Bennett

SEDGES All winter, above, under snow, their hearts fed on dank earth, their fronds loved the wind. Between storms, a crow landed and squawked to them, cawed like an only friend. In warming, winter's dross was a hint of something more than promise and blind faith-- the curlew's cry, in portent, rent the still air, and the lake surface took it with calm rippling; while between the lake and the road three large wooden crosses, erected by a man who…