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On windless summer days, vultures perch on the cell tower near my house and scan the horizon. They are glider pilots; without wind they would use up their wing energy in minutes. So they watch and wait and smell and balance and ballet.
On windless summer days, I walk in shadows, black treetop to treetop on windless summer days, and butterflies sip my sweat. The leaves sag and fold inward and pant, and the tallgrass prairie flowers are trampolines for bumblebees.
