Mist turns into drizzle. A small, filmy-winged fly drifts back and forth across the yard, heedless as a texting teen. A goldfinch monologue.

I wish I had names for all the filmy-winged insects that appear like spirits when the light is strong and the shadows behind them are deep.

Cool and breezy. A fly with a blue abdomen and golden thorax, first spotted yesterday, returns for further exploration of my partner’s knee.

Cool and clear. An enormous hairy fly lands on my arm, then my chair. I swat it and it flies off, apparently unhurt. Clouds move in.

A hummingbird buzzes below the porch, looking for the touch-me-nots that the deer have eaten. Fly on my shoe, is it everything you’d hoped?

Catbird caterwauling by the cattails. Bumblebee buzzing in the bergamot. A gray fly walks the gray band of my sandal. The sun comes out.