At 52 degrees, hornets are already going in and out of their gray globe in the weeds. I watch the sunrise by inference on the western ridge.
At last the garden cricket has...
At last the garden cricket has a rival. They creak slowly back and forth. I scan the western sky for what’s left of last night’s moon.
Tagged crickets, moon
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It starts to rain. A hover fly...
It starts to rain. A hover fly lands on the rim of my mug, its thin, yellow-banded abdomen twitching like a nervous and anorexic bee.
Tagged syrphid fly
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A cyanide millipede—black...
A cyanide millipede—black segments edged in orange, yellow cilia undulating—flows through the garden like a dangerous amusement park ride.
Tagged millipede
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In the springhouse marsh, 13 cattail...
In the springhouse marsh, 13 cattail spikes are turning brown. When I go over for a closer look, a deer pops her head up, swivels her ears.
Tagged cattails, deer, springhouse
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The small cross of a plane against...
The small cross of a plane against the blue, its distant drone. A flicker climbing the dead elm loses his footing on a patch of sunlight.
Tagged elm, flicker
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The vibrating of a dead branch...
The vibrating of a dead branch from which a bird has just flown. In a funnel spider web among the weeds, 14 raindrops from the last storm.
Tagged funnel spider
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