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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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The Prose Poem
David B. McCoy
Just beyond our yard, where the nature preserve starts, was a rock that looked just like a sleeping bear. It’s funny that we have lived here 20 years, and I never noticed it before. Every morning this winter, when I would look out the window over the sink, I’d think to myself, “That rock looks an awful lot like a bear.” This morning my wife, as she was looking out the window, announced, “Oh my! I see our bear is gone. Didn’t it look just like a big rock?”