Just realized I'd yet to compliment
Life on providing grasshoppers
in the field buttressed by
Sierra Nevada peaks. They
launched themselves, those
bugs, with catapult back legs,
and tried to stay aloft with weighty
art deco wings. The theater
of tall grass and weeds featured
jazz parabolas, careening leaps,
and caroms off my legs and chest
and cheeks. A festival, a rite!
Bug ballet, nothing like it.
Butterflies applauded. Thank you.
hans ostrom 2020
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