A Hitchcock of ravens in the silver oak
My totem of birds
Flocks
Hawk swooping in
Swallows
Baby Bunny
Burrows in the shrubbery
Ground hog holes
Fireflies like golden snowflakes
What’s left of a Japanese Maple sprouting
Rice-paddy-hat-wearing fungi
A Forsythia bush waves from across the street
It seems I’m right where I should be
I can even see Cassiopeia from my stoop
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