In the Canyon

High up in the canyon
a golden hawk slowly circles,
grey feathered wings spread wide,
passing into the glare of the sun.

Bathing in the sun's warmth
a lizard bobs up and down
upon a flat boulder
then darts, pauses, darts, and vanishes.

The warm wind rubs its back against
a curving corner of the canyon walls,
and suddenly small bits of leaves
rise up and begin to give chase to each other.

The swarm of dried leaflets swirl and crackle about,
weaving and dodging
like cover for wild fairies at play.

Carried by a sudden gust, they fly up
and dive past a muddy embankment
to land and rest and float away
upon the eddies and currents of a cool shallow stream.

Past forests of ferms and miniature islands of stone
light sparkling on the thin glassy surface
and dancing in weaving patterns upon the golden sunlit silt beneath
as the water softly ripples and splashes and flows along.

The departing bits of leaf bounce upon small rapids,
rush down between a series of pouring falls
then disappear into the fluttering shadows
beneath great spreading trees that rise from
damp dark tangled roots, anchoring the embracing shores.

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