On this perfectly rainsoaked
April morning, all the horses are put away. And the insects are away, the birds
relatively quiet. I'm standing above a secluded stream, by a secluded flooded
swampland, as one female mallard quietly swims on by, and remains beneath the
old bridge.
Over on the other side, as the day shifts from sprinkle to vigorous rainfall, all the tiny buds and catkins and leaves are emerging. Right then. Right there.
And right there, a small beaver, swims past, moving to the far end, and then remaining out of sight.
Over on the other side, as the day shifts from sprinkle to vigorous rainfall, all the tiny buds and catkins and leaves are emerging. Right then. Right there.
And right there, a small beaver, swims past, moving to the far end, and then remaining out of sight.
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