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| Ox Herding Lesson Emily Warn |
The road bends away from the sea, meandering through salt meadow hay. You walk along singing on the road of white sand dug from the marsh, the sea a hushed roar in the distance where the forge of waves levels the sand, spilling its molten silver at the sandpipers' feet that scurry, jotting it all down. Just ahead of you on the road is an egret, perfectly still, perfectly white and shaped like a lamed, the only letter with its top in the clouds, the only letter that leans like marsh grass, one eye cocked on ditch water, the other on clouds white feathers, aloft yet earthbound. The egret is dwarfed by salt marsh, which stretches far, far away, a wind-flattened white sea of grass with islands of scraggly myrtles rising from it. And dwarf cedars whose outer needles burn to protect the living sap. Egrets can stand so still among reeds that fish mistake their legs for grass. Why then is this one in the road when ditches on either side teem with minnows? You sit down on hot gravel to ask and hear the egret listening to you pierce and swallow the atmosphere of fishes and clouds. |
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