The tree crowns whisper. The leaves bow, rise, flutter, dance, as summer rain taps. From their leafy loft, cicadas sing with songbirds in their gospel choir. Early morning storm shakes the wet earth with thunder, scares the kids awake. Still air and still leaves: the earth is holding its breath. Only waters move. A cold, cutting wind blows hard, and to save ourselves we cling to bare twigs. The willow dances out over the rippled pond; I can hear the song. A great V flies South against heavy laden skies. I stand unprepared.
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