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One was a tiny little rock

she despised and detested people, loved only children and animals

children she loved passionately but coldly

had a profound grudge against the human being

contemptuous ridicule.

Night had fallen, it was dark

but she forgot to be afraid

among the trees

a magic peace

a pure loneliness.

It was only the moon, risen through the thin trees

rabbits across the ground

a distant coughing of sheep

at the center, a vivid incandescent quivering white moon

a battlefield of broken lights and shadows

white fragments pulsed and could not find where to go.

Ursula saw the persistent, obtrusive birds as short, stout politicians

making themselves heard at any cost,

“The universe is non-human, thank God.”

 

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