Honey bees bustle over purple rosemary blossoms:
industry in the setting sun -- it is March.
The air is clear and static. Awesome
distance pours a sterile blue sky
Through a mapped valley green with spring.
Budding oak trees, shameless, naked white,
totter off towards chaparral-draped mountains. Birds sing.
A black-tail deer mounts the nearest ridge.
Hearing this place is not a choice.
Do not strain to listen to its voiceless voice.
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