The Place

I envy those newts
who so intimately entwine themselves in the scrumptious looking moss, swimming their way through that green dampness just fast enough to not be slow but too slow to be considered fast.
I jump into the deep pool of a shallow creek, trying to stay in for as long as my body can stand that pure cold.
Watching a full moon peakaboo above the tree tops before, slowly, teasingly, revealing her whole blooming self.
I saw a scorpion cast its rock out from atop itself, and to their delight stand its ground amongst a throng of school children.
The fogies always find the old-timey mining equipment, and sit and take pictures with and grin as if they remember good times once shared.
There’s the unknown bird with the inexpressible call whose surreptitious song seems to slow and alter all that is about me.
The raven comes calling for mice every morning, and with two traps, usually gets what it’s looking for.
Have you seen that ruby-backed beetle?