Our footsteps on the trail scare up a ground squirrel.
He dashes through the hedge nettle to his burrow.
An astringent, citrus smell lingers in his wake.
What a joy it is to know the names of all the players in this simple story.
That wild mint and her distinctive smell have often been nearby,
but now we are that much closer.
The trail of inhabitation, of knowledge of place, is long and lovely.
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