Once you start counting them
It’s hard to stop.
For me
It’s when I am outside
I have learned to notice
As if for the first time
The deep grooves of bark on a tree
Mossy bits that decorate it
Leaves dangling
even in the winter
Still colourful against
Blue skies
Naming the shapes of clouds
Cold wind kissing my bare cheeks
Sunlight that makes me feel oddly buoyant
Like tiny diamonds
Dusting the surface of
untouched snow.
The crunch of each step
Delicate vine leaves
Wrapped around branches
Mimicking antique lace
Burrs clumped together
Willing to form attachments
To anything that passes by.

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