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baloonsLittle drops of dew, like small gems, rest along the long blades of grass beneath the tall pine, its heavy limbs stretched out and holding aloft an umbrella of dark green above me. The dewy grass is still slightly drowsy with moon’s rays and not ready for a morning conversation. Just a few feet away the others of its kind lie basking in the morning sun, bellies up, arms wide, wombs open.

Across the field stands the pine who has been calling to me for days now, posing first this way and then the other. She invites me to sketch her and as I resist I note the illumination of her right profile, the dark depths of her core, the tips of her braches so delicately lit. Not tall enough to be a queen, the pine still reigns by virtue of her beauty and self-possession in the grove that is her kingdom.

From the creek a scissors of white arcs steeply upward, then swiftly down again; a snowy egret trailing a great silence in the wake of its shapely wings. Then two geese crest the trees that surround the pond, drop low and fly across the grass. Gliding past, their wings wave hello to me.

At the playground a young father holds a cell phone to his ear while the toddler scrambles in and out of the monkey bar then darts towards the woman with the large German Shepherd walking down the path. While she pulls the rearing dog back on the leash, the father hastily herds the boy back to the swings without missing a beat of his digital conversation.

Later, phone still to his ear, he runs in pursuit of the boy who is toddling after a man down the path that leads to the pond. The father scoops up the child with one arm and carries him, legs kicking, to the picnic table and while the child cries he turns his back and listens intently to the phone.

An elderly man and woman slowly totter by, the wheels of her walker squeak in counterpoint to the tapping of his cane as they debate the dangers and rewards of German sausages. The small dachshund that accompanies them barks to let me know he has noted my presence and is keeping a keen eye on me.

As I fold up my lawn chair and prepare to leave, the spring birds sing the praises of the morning while a young female in chartreuse runs by and hums to the music coming from her iPod.

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