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The squirrels on the morning lawn have in them the force of life
It is a mysterious electricity, out of place in this soggy scene
They quiver and leap and float across the grass
They ascend tree trunks in the blink of an eye
Taut as wires, light as a dream
A vigor, almost violent, from some wild, red planet.
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If not for them, today’s scene would be empty and mute
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But now a Blue jay lights on my windowsill, far closer than before
I can see life in his eyes
And I see in his feathers sharp markings that follow some precise, breathtaking pattern
What do these lines map; and from what order come these vivid shades
That do nothing to hide or protect him? These colors, these lines
Do not seem to be functional or practical, but more like some scream
Heaven’s blue amid all of nature’s greens:
“I am alive and touched with beauty”
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