fall from trees,I become incredibly aware
that air is really there,
that even in this windless
autumn daydream,
air in its own reverie
eddies like a stream,
slides a leaf this way, that,
then spins it down to ground
to sink into soil and wait
to be pulled up by roots again
to dance in the air
that really is there.
-John Caddy, Morning Earth: Field Notes in Poetry
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