April 17, 2015 § Leave a comment
In the deep ditch there is an abstraction of greens. Sharp blades, ragged crowns and cushions of fringed leaves. I could lie down here and bury my face in the thick scent of new beginnings, lie still until dandelions poke their yellow heads between my fingers, and the excursion of ants, the whisper of caterpillars deep in their own metamorphosis becomes loud. Sometime in the well of night, undisturbed and undisturbing, the soft paws of a quiet fox will halt mid-stride, sniff the damp mossy air and move on.