A poem | by Holly Hudley

I saw

a fern quivering

close to the

black, black ground.

I saw the

small

leaf covered

mound

begin to move.

Pushing

the blanket

of sodden leaves

up

as if

breathing

as if

cracking open

as if

getting born

or lumbering awake.

I could not help myself.

I prodded it

with a lichen covered stick

ever so gently

to see if it had eyes with which to see me.

The mound stopped

pushing.

I watched.

It waited.

I walked

On.

Which does not mean

the earth mound

moved

or not

according to my bidding.

This perhaps is our elusive human flaw.

Our fallacy of misplaced grandeur

that deludes ourselves

into believing

we can force the earth to move.

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