Would you like to walk with me along this path of words? While the Astilbe thrust their pink towers from the perennial garden;
while the Pileated Woodpecker cackles while hidden deep in the woods;
while the cumulus bulge white mounds into the afternoon sky;
while the hummingbird sips sweet liquid while hovering on a blur of wings; while cloud shadows race across the fields trying to catch the wind; while summer quickens, ripens, and opens this invitation to walk, to watch, to wonder.
kept urging my words to form into lines to echo the sound; but the clear notes bursting from this small brown bird, at first suspended, then falling through the shapeless air, were so pure, so full of grace; it was impossible to transcribe his song, sung from the echoing space of clear canyon air,
onto these pages; flat, white, and hungry for words, impossible to honor this holy dimension.