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Windows open this first day of spring

the cool air whispering truths in

a language I cannot puzzle out.

Vernal sky layered with soggy clouds

considers yet another downpour.

On the path I saw one and then another

box turtle coated with mud from a deep sleep.

I long to see the place that kept them safe

all winter, to see their eggs and the

babies hatching out into a place both

strange and somehow familiar before

plodding off into the mystery and

delight of the world already knowing

what to do and how to do it while

I, after sixty years wandering,

continue to stumble bumping

into boulders tripping

over roots and stumps.

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