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It seems surreal
To view such grandeur
and not to enter in–
Or, am I in and can’t see out?

It’s dawn, and the sun has yet
To spark the horizon.

This low glow illumines
Lime-green aspen leaves in
Infant stages of growth,
Freshly saturated by a cold, hard rain
From the day before.

Birds of various natures
Sing their morning lauds.
Hummingbirds buzz above,
Like locusts, to the feeder water
That I just hung up for them.

Two unaware-of-my-presence deer
Graze in the thickening grass,
In the distance, giving away
Their rosy-brown doe-fur.

I’m in the center–
The turning point, yet,
I feel the audience.
I can’t seem to enter in–
to play the scene.

The feeders are out.
I must return to bed.

photo and poem by S.A. Bort / 7 June 2016

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