Pure Poetry
Pure Poetry The day was full of pure poetry. Morning's breath brought whiffs of dry grass and delicate linden. We paused at a field–our feet as well as our voices. We were rewarded for our silence by a cloud of black birds shooting up out of the grass. "How marvelous", I murmured. Something about the perfect angle of their flight in juxtaposition with the flat field fascinated me. But as I was contemplating their lifting point, another gift streaked past. A beige blur raced through the grass. If I had blinked, I would have missed the moment. "Look!" I shouted to Stacey. "A hare!" she exclaimed. He was moving so fast it was hard to gage his gait, but when we focused on his legs it became apparent that he tucked the front set under his body and then closed it in with those in the rear. I felt awed by this rare scene, but there was another present in store. We continued down the path to a section full of underbrush. As I was soaking in the green around u...