Airborne

Where I had cleared the heavy, leafy debris
Left by a winter of cold winds
Following an autumn of neglect,
And a summer of mild indifference,
The dried strands of last year’s ornamental grass
Float among the golden pine needles
Fragrancing the spring day
With a memory:
The summer aroma of solitary sunshine in the treetops.

Into this stasis flies a robin

To tug on the dried grass until it yields.

He flies away with it and a few pine needles


And life continues.

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