After a time of sitting by, I feel a sneezewort rising, and there in the blue haze of morning the turkey of wild dancing by. And she moves, shakes, scattering feathers, inches towards the duck of wood. My dragon funnel erect, attentive; lubricants dripping the snowball bush. The hawk soars calmly, investigating the upgrowth of newborn kidney lichens. The birds weave and wind, creating a six-pointed star in the tall grass rippled with ring lichens. My ear perks, the sound of a snowdrop a little yonder. A pheasant warbles and the thornbush lichens shed their weapons.
