I start the day with
bird calls coming from
bushes and treetops,
urgent and restless.
Clouds cover the cool
morning and grey
squirrels chase each
other along the gnarly
walnut branches, the
background music of
birds tapering with the
heat of the day when
the bees and beetles
and butterflies step
in to fill the air with
buzzing all along their
flight paths. A thick
carpet of wildflowers
adorn tree roots, the
well of their blossoms
awaiting the moment
bees drink their nectar.
Then, insect wings settle
as sunset approaches,
and with dusk, tree frogs
begin their cries. My
footprints seem so small
as a whippoorwill’s call
echoes through the hills
and my path up the hollow
is draped in shadows.