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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
yes the squirming lords within the autumnn leaves ; snails …emissaries of Old Ones ; moving infinitely finite within the span of slow millenia .. ( hey buddy ; can i interest you in latest novel by Umberto Eco ; “Numero Zero” …got happy ending for old lovers ; escape into south america and the pampas and shadows at noon tide ..with my own drawings ; naked cheraphi…the works ..) also ; you know Popular Music from Vittula : “the matron was observing the men folk stuff themselves with seven courses of rich food…and cups and cups of dark coffee –full of scorn she spoke ; -” what is the world coming to when our men folk have so little appetite ” the men ..chastised…helped themselves to more food…faces bright red and shining with effort..
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