knows not the language

the mountain grasses and wild flowers are a buzz with life this morning

a whole universe at play amongst the tiny flying ones
swarming and buzzing and fluttering in their own unique dimension
pollinating the matrix of life and who knows what else


busy and thriving, dive bombing flowers

and barreling through the grass seed
making music with their tiny super-speed wings
each a different tone, vibrating in a strange harmony

sitting still here in the field like a stone within the rushing river
i let them gather and swarm around my face
they land and take tiny strolls across the crest of my cheek,
around the curve of my ear, tickling me with their dainty feet

they take off, buzz around and come back for another turn
are they studying me?

this strange large warm being
not a flower or a tree
not an elk or a rabbit
one who hasn’t been here before
and knows not the language of this place


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