Marshes

April skies in April waters.

A heron flares, cups wings, inserts into the fen.

A gull hangs, yaws in the breeze,

Ask why three times and you get somewhere interesting.

But finding out why is not a solution.

In any case, solution implies a problem.

There is no problem here, just the constant traction of an onshore wind.

The pale undersides of young leaves plume to the north.

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