The wood is so unlike a photo of a family in static happiness.
The walker doesn’t
want this wood to spectate.
He doesn’t
want this fissure
Between
observer and observed.
He wants a
partnership
Between his
complex, natural mind
And the
complex, natural world.
To his past
self,
All this
formed a continuum:
From the
beetle on the ground
To the brain
in his skull.
That brain
that now scrutinises
The beetle
on the ground.
Now all he
does is mentally turn the beetle over,
From being
face-up in the leafy ground,
To being
arse-up, head-down
On his
mind's dissecting table.
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