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The Day’s Delight: Red

A little red spider down on last year’s birch leaves. A brilliant dot of velvet so unlike the muted browns, the ghostly yellows that have turned nearly white, the bruise-blue damp.

I crouched down to watch: what valleys and canyons and cliffs the forest floor was for something so small, so vividly alive.

I wonder what it is that bends low and watches us.

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