the dusty-hot sun, aching burden of
catatonic stillness, joints sticky shafts
creaking in the quiet.
Somewhere a sound stirs that
is not tempest or fire but a restless
excitement for the forthcoming--a
palpable ambient electricity.
Slowly at first, the grasses raise their heads
and dance--their rustlings assuring
whisperings--a comforting caress
rippling to every horizon of the soul.
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