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A peacock struts without a sound.
A feather falls and is left to disintegrate into the ground,
its iridescent blue mirroring the sky.
Green like the smooth shell of a fly,
and gold like the stems of wheat growing in the field.
The Autumn breeze finds itself wrapped around an old oak tree,
unable to detach the tree's hold on love and wise counsel

I did not find myself today.
Not in the bottom of the river where sticks and leaves float above.
Not in the crowded street, where people do not connect eyes.
I did not find myself in the eyes of men.
Reaching for a grasp in the soil,
I spread my roots and tread water
'til I see dappled sunlight between trees.
It warms the places where acorn meets leathery leaf.
Where dew drops slide off and do not penetrate.
I did not find myself in the sky today.
Today the stars seem foreign to me."

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