To find a quiet spot to sit and watch
how the bumblebee lands so gently on the flower petal, how the petal lightly bends under the weight and curls around the soft body until it turns and is gone.
See how the sparrow turns its head a dozen times to be sure it is safe before its beak disappears into the warm ground and surfaces with a worm, so clever to have known all along what was there.
And my clumsy hand can hardly pull a weed without snapping the stem of the flower I wish to save, and cursing. What the animals must think of my gracelessness, my noisy oblivion.
Perhaps they think nothing of it, only wait for the nuisance to pass; while I spy on them (not undetected) with rapturous curiosity.