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As I walk past the towering lilies backlit with sun

and enter the field messy with helianthus and brambles

I hear the raucous yells of crows

in the woods near the old spring. What did they find?

Are they mad or jubilant?

Then silence.

Walking down the mowed path I come across one, then two,

then three feathers, turkey by the looks of ’em.

And suddenly, a rustle. Then many beating wings

flying, flying up into the oaks. Six, seven, eight maybe twelve turkey fledglings

and their mother, scared and startled by human intrusion.

Then silence.#

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