At the edge of the path,
rising up from cracked, dry ground,
a musk thistle is calling.
As is my habit, I stop for a chat.
“What would you like, my lovely?”
It nods at me as I listen carefully.
“See me, love me, and leave me be.”
I look closely –
tenderly touch the soft heart
of an open seed head,
and move on.
From a distant treetop, a green finch calls:
to be me…!”