Walking along a country road,
I spot, ahead of me,
a bird with brilliant plumage;
closer: a foxglove
broken double.
I see ash trunks ‒
giraffes’ necks,
a stand of ferns ‒
green flamingos standing one-legged,
a million yellow
butterflies hovering above a meadow ‒
buttercups.
Then, straining to
see something extraordinary
in everything; I quite suddenly see
everything is
extraordinary.
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