The Clearing
Loosened stones pattered like rain on leaves,
chased before me down the gully
and out into the pinning heat of noon.
Meadow of knee-deep grass unfurled,
swathed with yellow flowers,
under the brassy sky.
Cicadas chirred in the heat,
roused to protest my intrusion.
Not flowers! My trespass
threw a jubilation of butterflies
into the startled air.
A golden storm that billowed over the meadow
then settled back to bloom and fool again.
I have left the meadow and their gilt careen
long ways behind yet they have lit
my hot and dusty roads for miles.
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