Then it was summer. Warm air,
sunlight shaken by the trees,
the sound trees make, breathing,
sighing. All things are healed
in that blue light. And man-made
things- the house on the hillside,
the silver windmill, the old wood
barn- are no longer satisfying.
But the smell of earth, the pungent
flowers, the hawk's harsh scream
reels down for rabbit are immortal.
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