In July

I love the thunder oak with its wreath of clouds, at mid-morning the shadow of its topmost branch touches my pillow. I love the song of the vireo glossy bees browsing, dog sleeping, blackberries twinkling and cornfields all tangled with skeins of light. I love the gnarled branches of black cherry plaited with ribbons of sky and the blue shadows of yellow butterflies disappearing in tall grass. I love the moon spilling its light on leaves of tupelo and crickets furling and unfurling their tattered flags of song. I love the ardent wind in clusters of pine luminous voices of a violin and flurries of bats singeing the air with their wings. I love the meadow brimming with fireflies and the way the stars will never reveal how I reached up with deft hands to rearrange them.

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