the ruffed grouse

a burst of brown plumage resets my senses

formerly affixed to the ground and pretenses

hairs on my neck and their posture adjust

as a grouse dissipates into aspen like dust

a break in the silence provides me relief

alleviates tension and restores belief

that wild things are often suprisingly close

awaiting preoccupied eyes to take note

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From the Field: Virginia Saxifrage

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the timber