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  mown a moment remembering thyme-leaved speedwell (Veronica serpyllifolia).

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Leaving the rose garden by the house, today, bent upon our knees
and close enough to kiss the ground of Little Crum Creek,

we might just listen to the stridulation of abdomen and wings
beneath the armor of a passing “Betsy” beetle–Horned passalus, Odontotaenius disjunctus–

with the urgency of, otherwise faint and muted, unsettling screams…

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Cherry Springs State Park, I’m told, is named for groves of black cherry trees–

its evening sky,  the clearest and darkest in Pennsylvania.

These days by Little Crum Creek, hours from the skygazers I’ll one night join,

a single black cherry briefly flowers the white light of our nearest star.

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Constantly time and space align in ways we occasionally recognize:
through bare limbs before spring leaves–
a pileated woodpecker feeds from a dying tree snag

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Spring sun —                             light come to life                            in every limb

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rainy and gray
silhouetting day
up hops a yellow-bellied sapsucker

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