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  • A baby bird falls to its death on the back step
    A sudden breeze frenzies the birch leaves
    And a small yellow plane putt-putts out across the mountains

    A hummingbird shimmies at the window where I work
    Trying to get at the flowers inside
    So I turn from book and screen and paper and pen
    And carry the scarlet geraniums out to it.

    Concentration broken
    I move into
    The plumped-up green of the strawberry beds
    Alive with feasting bumblebees as big and fuzzy as chive blossoms
    I watch butterflies spiraling Korean lilacs, their wings beating
    Pollen like stardust
    And just beyond, peonies are opening their tight fists to color
    Like a coin on a palm in a sleight-of-hand trick.

    Who says rural life is quiet and still?
    Peaceful?
    A place for contemplation and study?

    Come to my place and I’ll show you
    How dizzying it is, how changeable and seductive
    The movements and juxtapositions
    Of bird and blossom
    Of cloud and treetop
    Of grass and insect.

    Come walk with me
    And feel earth’s jitter and jive
    Air’s cacophonous scatter
    Water’s slip and slide

    And see if you
    Can get anything
    Done.
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