The Beauty of the Beaver in Motion

The beauty of a beaver coming right at you

 

The beauty of the ripples in the last light over the pond

 

And in the bright sun

To decoy me one golden August afternoon, the beaver did not dive

after the warning splash but floated like a golden log before me

Putting us both into a state

of shimmering perfection

 

And then there are the wakes playing on the reflections of the dead trees

 

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