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Maxim Baryshnikov


Youth Poet

Snoqualmie Pass

Chilly, crisp air
Rolling mountains decorated by pine trees,
Blankets of white as far as your eye can see,
The sharp smell of the freezing temperatures,
Warm, heavy jackets, fend off the stinging cold,
The silent echo of the mountains,
Pierced by a bird’s chirp, as peaceful as can be.