Damp earth dead worms deer droppings soft spring rain soaking through canvas shoes. Winter grass browned and flat like heated shredded wheat. Black capped chickadees and robins try to out do one another a king-fisher overhead. Red pine cones lay in thick new grass like chunks of bloody meat. A small nest sits abandoned nuthatch or sparrow’s maybe chickadee’s? Moss growing on an old worn fence like barnacles on an ancient ship. Taste of the dew the clouds moving like smoke from a chimney. The river is fattened with the season. Thick briars on the forest edge remind me of when I was a child and believed fully that they housed badgers and fairies. The wind and fireflies proved it to me over and over again. I planned on running away and living with the wind the fairies the badger and the fireflies. I can smell the crushed worms I hate that damned smell. Sharp and slimy at the same time. But the chickpea moss in the bare warm earth has a sweetness and looks like an ornate hair-clip on the side of a hill. Cold feet cold ears pavement making foam with every step pine needles and classmates perfume. Rain falling so slight that it floats and dances in the air appearing white like snow but more opaque. As a child I would have assumed that those were fairies as well. On a day like today who wouldn’t? The sky grows darker and darker heavy with rain or God’s shadow. Both would make the sky scream and cry and the badgers take shelter in the briars.
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