Be still,and breathe
the soft winter air.
Inhale the scent
of awakening,
the buds that lie
just below the surface
waiting to be born;
see how in death
the grasses,
ready to lie down
to protect new life,
glow with anticipation.
Listen,
as the tree, its tongue outstretched,
sips delicately at the nectar of fog.
* * *
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