a vanguard of crows and cooing doves the thrum of woodpeckers as the ageless spring chortled to life ducks skittered on the mere-- lichen greened the ancient drystone wall up to a wooden stile its scarce used path almost lost to grass yet I whistled my way through a whispering forest of trees over old rotting leaves which seemed quite dry but hid a spongy loam and saturated pap it sucked at my feet to draw me down and while the morning sun lit up green boles and budding branches I sank ever deeper into a mire of acceptance that it was my time to go a firmness of roots circled my waist and I thought of winter of the pain of death and all the time gnarled faces smiled at me till I felt a comfort deep inside before I lapsed to sleep then I awoke-- looked down at skittering ducks upon the mere and felt the warm sun-- here on my branches filled with buds-- and rife with energy which has never known the brevity of life.
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