The grass outside is freshly mowed 

A newly overcast sky cautiously testing

How quickly a few drops would evaporate against a hot sidewalk 

Blue and purple hydrangeas 

weep petals to rot in a fountain of browning edges

Sickly sweet in life and death 

Ink and old paper

fresh wood and lacquer

A hopeful investment breathing chemical newness. 

And me, tucked in a corner

book open in my lap 

eyes following a wasp on the open sill 

industrious and dangerous 

Determined

Sculpting old sawdust into something more

It paused, head tilting

Watching me in return. 

Another petal drops

A faraway lawn mower sputters to a stop 

And the rain 

Arrives.