The wildflowers, small and bright, bold and brassy, begging to be seen, have passed.
Knee-deep in fresh, soft growth, the long and lacy stems fill in, the softer light more kind to their quiet colors--
pale lavender, shades of purple, icy blue.
Under this cover,
beneath its shade,
gossamer petals on willowy stems,
fringed faces from a carpet, watch.
And hold the sounds there, still.
Within the safety of these woods.
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