Before the feathers of rain came
I lifted the heads from tired
daisies and cut the points from
spinach-green grass on the lawn.
A slither of movement at the
edge caught my attention; it was
a finger-thick Slow-worm,
Anguis fragilis.
The length of my
forearm it moved timidly near
the pine border, twisting over
itself seeking a roof of mown
leaves. It disappeared as easily
as it had appeared.
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