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in the woods below the house by the stream
when suddenly I thought, Why write another thing about the woods
or stream or sky as I have for years?
Why not just let them speak for themselves?
What can I possibly say that would add anything at all
to what they’re already saying?
I stop to listen to the running water, rustling leaves, myriad birds
accompanying the silence in which the infinite, miniscule lords
wriggle and squirm and sing.
I love how they speak for each other and enter the ear inside my ear.
How they shun the limelight beneath the leaves and inside the air.
How they form the glorious chorus they do in the under and overstory.
“Do you hear?”
You can be deaf and still hear them all.
Copyright 2022 Chard deNiord