I’m walking along a trail where red and white clover bloom along the path bordering Brandywine Creek. A red-eyed vireo warbles insistently from the trees above. Nearby, a wood thrush sings a flute-lik
After the storm the woods are holy, fragrant with earth and plants, rinsed clean and warded by contralto flutesong of wood thrush and the high, bright joy of song sparrows. The world smells newly made
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